LUDJNGTONS- 
SISTER 


MmMMMHMBMMMK 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER 


ROMANCE    OF    IMMORTALITT 


EDWARD    BELLAMY 

Author    of  "Six    to    One:    A    Nantucket    Idyl";    "Dr.    Heidenhojf's 
Process";    and    Short    Stories 


BOSTON : 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY 

i  884 


Copyright,   1884 
BY  JAMES   R.   OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


PRESS  OF  ROCKWELL  AND  CHURCHILL, 
39  ARCH  STREET,   BOSTON. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

*  I  ^HE  happiness  of  some  lives  is  distributed 
-*-  pretty  evenly  over  the  whole  stretch  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave,  while  that  of  others 
comes  all  at  once,  glorifying  some  particular 
epoch  and  leaving  the  rest  in  shadow.  During 
one,  five,  or  ten  blithe  years,  as  the  case  may 
be,  all  the  springs  of  life  send  up  sweet  waters ; 
joy  is  in  the  very  air  we  breathe;  happiness 
seems  our  native  element.  During  this  period 
we  know  what  is  the  zest  of  living,  as  com 
pared  with  the  mere  endurance  of  existence, 
which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  we  have  attained  to 
before  or  since.  With  men  this  culminating 
epoch  comes  often  in  manhood,  or  even  at 

M109758 


MISS  LVPING  TON 'S  SIS  TER. 

maturity,  especially  with  men  of  arduous  and 
successful  careers.  But  with  women  it  comes 
most  frequently  perhaps  in  girlhood  and  young 
womanhood.  Particularly  is  this  wont  to  be 
the  fact  with  women  who  do  not  marry,  and  with 
whom,  as  the  years  glide  on,  life  becomes 
lonelier  and  its  interests  fewer. 

By  the  time  Miss  Ida  Ludington  was  twenty- 
five  years  old  she  recognized  that  she  had  done 
with  happiness,  and  that  the  pale  pleasures  of 
memory  were  all  which  remained  to  her. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  mere  fact  that  her 
youth  was  past,  saddening  though  that  might 
be,  which  had  so  embittered  her  life,  but  the 
peculiarly  cruel  manner  in  which  it  had  been 
taken  from  her. 

The  Ludingtons  were  one  of  the  old  families 
of  Hilton,  a  little  farming  village  among  the 
hills  of  Massachusetts.  They  were  not  rich,  but 
were  well-to-do,  lived  in  the  largest  house  in 
the  place,  and  were  regarded  somewhat  as  local 
magnates.  Miss  Ludington's  childhood  had 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER,  3 

been  an, exceptionally  happy  one,  and  as  a  girl 
she  had  been  the  belle  of  the  village.  Her 
beauty,  together  with  her  social  position  and 
amiability  of  disposition,  made  her  the  idol  of 
the  young  men,  the  recognized  leader  of  the 
girls,  and  the  animating  and  central  figure  in 
the  social  life  of  the  place. 

She  was  about  twenty  years  old,  at  the 
height  of  her  beauty  and  in  the  full  tide  of 
youthful  enjoyment,  when  she  fell  ill  of  a  dread 
ful  disease,  and  for  a  long  time  lay  between  life 
and  death.  Or,  to  state  the  case  more  accu 
rately,  the  girl  did  die, —  it  was  a  sad  and  faded 
woman  who  rose  from  that  bed  of  sickness. 

The  ravages  of  disease  had  not  left  a  vestige 
of  her  beauty,  —  it  was  hopelessly  gone.  The 
luxuriant,  shining  hair  had  fallen  out  and  been 
replaced  by  a  scanty  growth  of  washed-out  hue  ; 
the  lips,  but  yesterday  so  full,  and  red,  and 
tempting,  were  thin,  and  drawn,  and  colorless, 
and  the  rose-leaf  complexion  had  given  place 
to  an  aspect  so  cruelly  pitted,  seamed,  and 


£  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

scarred  that  even  friends  did  not  recognize 
her. 

The  fading  of  youth  is  always  a  melancholy 
experience  with  women ;  but  in  most  cases  the 
process  is  so  gradual  as  to  temper  the  poig 
nancy  of  regret,  and  perhaps  often  to  prevent 
its  being  experienced  at  all  except  as  a  vague 
sentiment. 

But  in  Miss  Ludington's  case  the  transition 
had  been  piteously  sharp  and  abrupt. 

With  others,  ere  youth  is  fully  past  its  charms 
are  well-nigh  forgotten  in  the  engrossments  of 
later  years ;  but  with  her  there  had  been  nothing 
to  temper  the  bitterness  of  her  loss. 

During  the  long  period  of  invalidism  which 
followed  her  sickness  her  only  solace  was 
a  miniature  of  herself,  at  the  age  of  seven 
teen,  painted  on  ivory,  the  daguerreotype 
process  not  having  come  into  use  at  this  time, 
which  was  toward  the  close  of  the  third  decade 
of  the  present  century. 

Over  this  picture  she  brooded  hours  together 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  5.. 

when  no  one  was  near,  studying  the  bonny, 
gladsome  face  through  blinding  tears,  and 
sometimes  murmuring  incoherent  words  of 
tenderness. 

Her  young  friends  occasionally  came  to  sit 
with  her,  by  way  of  enlivening  the  weary  hours 
of  an  invalid's  day.  At  such  times  she  would 
listen  with  patient  indifference  while  they 
sought  to  interest  her  with  current  local  gossip, 
and  as  soon  as  possible  would  turn  the  conver 
sation  back  to  the  old  happy  days  before  her 
sickness.  On  this  topic  she  was  never  weary  of 
talking,  but  it  was  impossible  to  induce  her  to 
take  any  interest  in  the  present. 

She  had  caused  a  locket  to  be  made,  to 
contain  the  ivory  miniature  of  herself  as  a 
girl,  and  always  wore  it  on  her  bosom. 

In  no  way  could  her  visitors  give  her  more 
pleasure  than  by  asking  to  see  this  picture,  and 
expressing  their  admiration  of  it.  Then  her  poor, 
disfigured  face  would  look  actually  happy,  and 
she  would  exclaim,  "Was  she  not  beautiful?" 


6  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  flattered  her,  do  you  ?  "  and 
with  other  similar  expressions  indicate  her 
sympathy  with  the  admiration  expressed.  The 
absence  of  anything  like  self-consciousness 
in  the  delight  she  took  in  these  tributes  to 
the  charms  of  her  girlish  self  was  pathetic  in 
its  completeness.  It  was  indeed  not  as  herself, 
but  as  another,  that  she  thought  of  this  fair  girl, 
who  had  vanished  from  the  earth,  leaving  a 
picture  as  her  sole  memento.  How,  indeed, 
could  it  be  otherwise  when  she  looked  from  the 
picture  to  the  looking-glass,  and  contrasted  the 
images?  She  mourned  for  her  girlish  self, 
which  had  been  so  cruelly  effaced  from  the 
world  of  life,  as  for  a  person,  near  and  pre 
cious  to  her  beyond  the  power  of  words  to 
express,  who  had  died. 

From  the  time  that  she  had  first  risen  from 
the  sick-bed,  where  she  had  suffered  so  sad  a 
transformation,  nothing  could  induce  her  to 
put  on  the  brightly-colored  gowns,  be-ribboned, 
and  ruffled,  and  gayly  trimmed,  which  she  had 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  J 

worn  as  a  girl ;  and  as  soon  as  she  was  able  she 
carefully  folded  and  put  them  away  in  laven 
der,  like  relics  of  the  dead.  For  herself,  she 
dressed  henceforth  in  drab  or  black. 

For  three  or  four  years  she  remained  more 
or  less  an  invalid.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
she  regained  a  fair  measure  of  health,  although 
she  seemed  not  likely  ever  to  be  strong. 

In  the  meanwhile  her  school-mates  and  friends 
had  pretty  much  all  married,  or  been  given  in 
marriage.  She  was  a  stranger  to  the  new  set  of 
young  people  which  had  come  on  the  stage  since 
her  day,  while  her  former  companions  lived  in  a 
world  of  new  interests,  with  which  she  had 
nothing  in  common.  Society,  in  reorganizing 
itself,  had  left  her  on-  the  outside.  The  present 
had  moved  on,  leaving  her  behind  with  the 
past.  She  asked  nothing  better.  If  she  was  I 
nothing  to  the  present,  the  present  was  still  less 
to  her.  As  to  society,  her  sensitiveness  to 
the  unpleasant  impression  made  by  her  personal 
appearance  rendered  social  gatherings  dis- 


8  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

tasteful  to  her,  and  she  wore  a  heavy  veil  when 
she  went  to  church. 

She  was  an  only  child.  Her  mother  had 
long  been  dead,  and  when  about  this  time  her 
father  died  she  was  left  without  near  kin. 
With  no  ties  of  contemporary  interest  to  hold 
her  to  the  present  she  fell  more  and  more 
under  the  influence  of  the  habit  of  retro 
spection. 

The  only  brightness  or  color  which  life  could 
ever  have  for  her  lay  behind  in  the  girlhood 
which  had  ended  but  yesterday,  and  was  yet 
so  completely  ended.  She  found  her  only 
happiness  in  the  recollections  of  that  period 
which  she  retained.  These  were  the  only 
goods  she  prized,  and  it  was  the  grief  of  her 
life  that,  while  she  had  strong  boxes  for  her 
money,  and  locks  and  keys  for  her  silver  and 
her  linen,  there  was  no  device  whereby  she 
could  protect  her  store  of  memories  from  the 
slow  wasting  of  forgetfulness. 

She  lived  with  a  servant  quite  alone  in  the 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  9 

old  Ludington  homestead,  which  it  was  her 
absorbing  care  to  keep  in  precisely  the  same 
condition,  even  to  the  arrangement  of  the 
furniture,  in  which  it  had  always  been. 

If  she  could  have  insured  the  same  perma 
nence  in  the  village  of  Hilton,  outside  the 
homestead  enclosure,  she  would  have  been 
spared  the  cause  of  her  keenest  unhappiness. 
For  the  hand  of  change  was  making  havoc 
with  the  village :  the  railroad  had  come,  shops 
had  been  built,  and  stores  and  new  houses 
were  going  up  on  every  side,  and  the  beautiful 
hamlet,  with  its  score  or  two  of  old-fashioned 
dwellings,  which  had  been  the  scene  of  her 
girlhood,  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  transformed 
into  a  vile  manufacturing  village. 

Miss  Ludington,  to  whom  every  stick  and 
stone  of  the  place  was  dear,  could  not  walk 
abroad  without  missing  some  ancient  landmark 
removed  since  she  had  passed  that  way  before, 
perhaps  a  tree  felled,  some  meadow,  that  had 
been  a  play-ground  of  her  childhood,  dug  up 


10  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

for  building-lots,  or  a  row  of  brick  tenements 
going  up  on  the  site  of  a  sacred  grove. 

Her  neighbors  generally  had  succumbed  to 
the  rage  for  improvement,  as  they  called  it. 
There  was  a  general  remodelling  and  modern 
izing  of  houses,  and,  where  nothing  more 
expensive  could  be  afforded,  the  paint-brush 
wrought  its  cheap  metamorphosis.  "  You 
wouldn't  know  Hilton  was  the  same  place," 
was  the  complacent  verdict  of  her  neighbors,  to 
which  Miss  Ludington  sorrowfully  assented. 

It  would  be  hard  to  describe  her  impotent 
wrath,  her  sense  of  outrage  and  irreparable  loss, 
as  one  by  one  these  changes  effaced  some 
souvenir  of  her  early  life.  The  past  was  once 
dead  already;  they  were  killing  it  a  second 
time.  Her ,  feelings  at  length  became  so  in 
tolerable  that  she  kept  her  house,  pretty  much 
ceasing  to  walk  abroad. 

At  this  period,  when  she  was  between  thirty 
and  thirty-five  years  old,  a  distant  relative  left 
her  a  large  fortune.  She  had  been  well-to- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  II 

do  before,  but  now  she  was  very  rich.  As 
her  expenses  had  never  exceeded  a  few  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year,  which  had  procured  her 
everything  she  needed,  it  would  be  hard  to 
imagine  a  person  with  less  apparent  use  for 
a  great  deal  of  money.  And  yet  no  young 
rake,  in  the  heyday  of  youth  and  the  riot 
of  hot  blood,  could  have  been  more  over 
joyed  at  the  falling  to  him  of  a  fortune  than 
was  this  sad-faced  old  maid.  She  became 
smiling  and  animated.  She  no  longer  kept  at 
home,  but  walked  abroad.  Her  step  was  quick 
and  strong ;  she  looked  on  at  the  tree-choppers, 
the  builders,  and  the  painters,  at  their  nefarious 
work,  no  more  in  helpless  grief  and  indigna 
tion,  but  with  an  unmistakable  expression 
of  triumph. 

Presently  surveyors  appeared  in  the  village, 
taking  exact  and  careful  measurements  of  the 
single  broad  and  grassy  street  which  formed  the 
older  part  of  it.  Miss  Ludington  was  closeted 
with  a  builder  and  engrossed  with  estimates. 


12  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

The  next  year  she  left  Hilton  to  the  mercy  of 
the  vandals,  and  never  returned. 

But  it  was  to  another  Hilton  that  she  went. 

The  fortune  she  had  inherited  had  enabled  her 
to  carry  out  a  design  which  had  been  a  day-dream 
with  her  ever  since  the  transformation  of  the 
village  had  begun.  Among  the  pieces  of  prop 
erty  left  her  was  a  large  farm  on  Long  Island, 
several  miles  out  of  the  city  of  Brooklyn.  Here 
she  had  rebuilt  the  Hilton  of  her  girlhood,  in 
fac-simile,  with  every  change  restored,  every 
landmark  replaced.  In  the  midst  of  this  silent 
village  she  had  built  for  her  residence  an  exact 
duplicate  of  the  Ludington  homestead,  situated 
in  respect  to  the  rest  of  the  village  precisely  as 
the  original  was  situated  in  the  real  Hilton. 

The  astonishment  of  the  surveyors  and  build 
ers  at  the  character  of  the  work  required  of 
them  was  probably  great,  and  their  bills  cer 
tainly  were,  though  Miss  Ludington  would  not 
have  grudged  the  money  had  they  been  ten 
times  greater.  However,  seeing  that  the  part  of 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  13 

the  village  duplicated  consisted  of  but  one  broad 
maple-planted  street,  with  not  over  thirty  houses, 
mostly  a  story  and  a  half,  and  that  none  of  the 
buildings  except  the  school-house,  the  little 
meeting-house  and  the  homestead,  were  fin 
ished  inside,  the  outlay  was  not  greater  than 
an  elaborate  plan  of  landscape  gardening  would 
have  involved. 

The  furniture  and  fittings  of  the  Massachu 
setts  homestead,  to  the  least  detail,  had  been 
used  to  fit  up  its  Long  Island  duplicate,  and 
when  all  was  complete  and  Miss  Ludington 
had  settled  down  to  house-keeping,  she  felt 
more  at  home  than'  in  ten  years  past. 

True,  the  village  which  she  had  restored  was 
empty;  but  it  was  not  more  empty  than  the 
other  Hilton  had  been  to  her  these  many  years, 
since  her  old  school-mates  had  been  metamor 
phosed  into  staid  fathers  and  mothers.  These 
respectable  persons  were  not  the  school-mates 
and  friends  of  her  girlhood,  and  with  no  hard 
feelings  toward  them,  she  had  still  rather  re- 


14  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

sented  seeing  them  about,  as  tending  to  blur 
her  recollections  of  their  former  selves,  in  whom 
alone  she  was  interested. 

That  her  new  Long  Island  neighbors  consid 
ered  her  mildly  insane  was  to  her  the  least 
of  all  concerns.  The  only  neighbors  she 
cared  about  were  the  shadowy  forms  which 
peopled  the  village  she  had  rescued  from  obliv 
ion,  whose  faces  she  fancied  smiling  gratefully 
at  her  from  the  windows  of  the  homes  she  had 
restored  to  them. 

For  she  had  a  notion  that  the  spirits  of  her 
old  neighbors,  long  dead,  had  found  out  this 
resurrected  Hilton,  and  were  grateful  for  the 
opportunity  to  revisit  the  unaltered  scenes  of 
their  passion.  If  she  had  grieved  over  the  re 
moval  of  the  old  landmarks  and  the  change  in 
the  appearance  of  the  village,  how  much  more 
hopelessly  must  they  have  grieved,  if  indeed  the 
dead  revisit  earth !  The  living,  if  their  homes 
are  broken  up,  can  make  them  new  ones,  which, 
after  a  fashion,  will  serve  the  purpose ;  but  the 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  15 

dead  cannot.     They  are   thenceforth    homeless 
and  desolate. 

No  sense  of  having  benefited  living  persons  f 
would     have     afforded     Miss     Ludington     the 
pleasure  she  took  in  feeling  that,  by  rebuilding 
ancient  Hilton,  she  had  restored  homes  to  these  \ 
homeless  ones. 

But  of  all  this  fabric  of  the  past  which  she 
had  resurrected,  the  central  figure  was  the 
school-girl  Ida  Ludington.  The  restored  vil 
lage  was  the  mausoleum  of  her  youth. 

Over  the  great  old-fashioned  fireplace,  in  the 
sitting-room  of  the  homestead  which  she  had 
rebuilt  in  the  midst  of  the  village,  she  had  hung 
a  portrait  in  oil,  by  the  first  portrait-painter 
then  in  the  country.  It  was  an  enlarged  copy 
of  the  little  likeness  on  ivory  which  had  for 
merly  been  so  great  a  solace  to  her. 

The  portrait  was  executed  with  extremely 
life-like  effect,  and  was  fondly  believed  by  Miss 
Ludington  to  be  a  more  accurate  likeness  in 
some  particulars  than  the  ivory  picture  itself. 


1 6  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

It  represented  a  very  beautiful  girl  of  seven 
teen  or  eighteen,  although  already  possessing 
the  ripened  charms  of  a  woman.  She  was 
dressed  in  white,  with  a  low  bodice,  her  luxuri 
ant  golden  hair,  of  a  rare  sheen  and  fineness, 
falling  upon  beautifully  moulded  shoulders. 
The  complexion  was  of  a  purity  that  needed  the 
faint  tinge  of  pink  in  the  cheeks  to  relieve  it  of 
a  suspicion  of  pallor.  The  eyes  were  of  the 
deepest,  tenderest  violet,  full  of  the  light  of 
youth,  and  the  lips  were  smiling. 

It  was,  indeed,  no  wonder  that  Miss  Luding- 
ton  had  mourned  the  vanishing  from  earth  of 
this  delectable  maiden  with  exceeding  bitter 
ness,  or  that  her  heart  yet  yearned  after  her 
with  an  aching  tenderness  across  the  gulf  of 
years. 

How  bright,  how  vivid,  how  glowing  had 
been  the  life  of  that  beautiful  girl !  How  real 
as  compared  with  her  own  faint  and  faded  per 
sonality,  which,  indeed,  had  shone  these  many 
years  only  by  the  light  reflected  from  that 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  17 

young  face !  And  yet  that  life,  in  its  strength 
and  brightness,  had  vanished  like  an  exhalation, 
and  its  elements  might  no  more  be  recombined 
than  the  hues  of  yesterday's  dawn. 

Miss  Ludington  had  hung  the  portraits  of 
her  father  and  mother  with  immortelles,  but 
the  frame  of  the  girl's  picture  she  had  wound 
with  deepest  crape. 

Her  father  and  mother  she  did  not  mourn 
as  one  without  hope,  believing  that  she 
should  see  them  some  day  in  another  world ; 
but  from  the  death  of  change  which  the  girl 
had  died  no  Messiah  had  ever  promised  any 
resurrection 


I  8  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER  II. 

r  I  "*HE  solitude  in  which  Miss  Ludington 
-*-  lived  had  become,  through  habit,  so  en 
deared  to  her  that  when,  a  few  years  after  she 
had  been  settled  in  her  ghostly  village,  a  cousin 
died  in  poverty,  bequeathing  to  her  with  his 
last  breath  a  motherless  infant  boy,  it  was 
with  great  reluctance  that  she  accepted  the 
charge.  She  would  have  willingly  assumed  the 
support  of  the  child,  but  if  it  had  been  possible 
would  have  greatly  preferred  providing  for  him 
elsewhere  to  bringing  him  home  with  her. 
This,  however,  was  impracticable,  and  so  there 
came  to  be  a  baby  in  the  old  maid's  house. 

Little  Paul  De  Riemer  was  two  years  old 
when  he  was  brought  to  live  with  Miss  Luding 
ton,  —  a  beautiful  child,  with  loving  ways,  and 
deep,  dark,  thoughtful  eyes.  When  he  was  first 
taken  into  the  sitting-room,  the  picture  of  the 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  19 

< 

smiling  girl  over  the  fireplace  instantly  attracted 
his  gaze,  and,  putting  out  his  arms,  he  cooed  to 
it.  This  completed  the  conquest  of  Miss  Lud- 
ington,  whose  womanly  heart  had  gone  out  to 
the  winsome  child  at  first  sight. 

As  'the  boy  grew  older  his  first  rational 
questions  were  about  the  pretty  lady  in  the 
picture,  and  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when 
Miss  Ludington  took  him  upon  her  knee  and 
told  him  stories  about  her  for  hours  together. 

These  stories  she  always  related  in  the  third 
person,  for  it  would  only  puzzle  and  grieve  the 
child  to  intimate  to  him  that  there  was- anything 
in  common  between  the  radiant  girl  he  had 
been  taught  to  call  Ida  and  the  withered 
woman  whom  he  called  Aunty.  What,  indeed, 
had  they  in  common  but  their  name?  and  it 
had  been  so  long  since  any  one  had  called  her 
Ida,  that  Miss  Ludington  scarcely  felt  that  the 
name  belonged  to  her  present  self  at  all. 

In  their  daily  walks  about  the  village  she 
would  tell  the  little  boy  endless  stories  about 


20  MISS  LUDINGTON*S  SISTER. 

incidents  which  had  befallen  Ida  at  this  spot  or 
that.  She  was  never  weary  of  telling,  or  he  of 
listening  to,  these  tales,  and  it  was  wonderful 
how  the  artless  sympathy  of  the  child  comforted 
the  lone  woman. 

One  day,  when  he  was  eight  years  old, 
finding  himself  alone  in  the  sitting-room,  the 
lad,  after  contemplating  Ida's  picture  for  a 
long  time,  piled  one  chair  on  another,  and, 
climbing  upon  the  structure,  put  up  his 
chubby  lips  to  the  painted  lips  of  the  portrait 
and  kissed  them  with  right  good-will.  Just 
then  Miss  Ludington  came  in,  and  saw  what 
he  was  doing.  Seizing  him  in  her  arms,  she 
cried  over  him  and  kissed  him  till  he  was 
thoroughly  frightened. 

A  year  or  two  later,  on  his  announcing  one 
day  his  intention  to  marry  Ida  when  he  grew 
up,  Miss  Ludington  explained  to  him  that  she 
was  dead.  He  was  quite  overcome  with  grief 
at  this  intelligence,  and  for  a  long  time  refused 
to  be  comforted. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  21 

And  so  it  was,  that  never  straying  beyond 
the  confines  of  the  eerie  village,  and  having 
no  companion  but  Miss  Ludington,  the  boy 
fell  scarcely  less  than  she  under  the  influence 
of  the  beautiful  girl  who  was  the  presiding 
genius  of  the  place. 

As  he  grew  older,  far  from  losing  its  charm, 
Ida's  picture  laid  upon  him  a  new  spell.  Her 
violet  eyes  lighted  his  first  love-dreams.  She 
became  his  ideal  of  feminine  loveliness,  drawing 
to  herself,  as  the  sun  draws  mist,  all  the  senti 
ment  and  dawning  passion  of  the  youth.  In  a 
word,  he  fell  in  love  with  her. 

Of  course  he  knew  now  who  she  had  been. 
Long  before,  as  soon  as  he  was  old  enough  to 
understand  it,  this  had  been  explained  to  him. 
But  though  he  was  well  aware  that  neither  on 
earth  nor  in  heaven,  nor  anywhere  in  the  uni 
verse,  did  she  any  more  exist,  that  knowledge 
was  quite  without  effect  upon  the  devotion 
which  she  had  inspired.  The  matter,  indeed, 
presented  itself  in  a  very  simple  way  to  his 


22  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

mind.  "  If  I  had  never  seen  her  picture,"  he 
said  one  day  to  Miss  Ludington,  "  I  should 
never  have  known  that  my  love  was  dead,  and 
I  should  have  gone  seeking  her  through  all  the 
world,  and  wondering  what  was  the  reason  I 
could  not  find  her." 

Miss  Ludington  was  over  sixty  years  of  age 
and  Paul  was  twenty-two  when  he  finished  his 
course  at  college.  She  had  naturally  supposed 
that,  on  going  out  into  the  world,  mixing  with 
young  men  and  meeting  young  women,  he 
would  outgrow  his  romantic  fancy  concerning 
Ida ;  but  the  event  was  very  different.  As  year 
after  year  he  returned  home  to  spend  his  vaca 
tions,  it  was  evident  that  his  visionary  passion 
was  strengthening  rather  than  losing  its  hold 
upon  him. 

But  the  strangest  thing  of  all  was  the  very 
peculiar  manner  in  which,  during  the  last 
vacation  preceding  his  graduation,  he  began 
to  allude  to  Ida  in  his  conversations  with  Miss 
Ludington.  It  was,  indeed,  so  peculiar  that 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2$ 

when,  after  his  return  to  college,  she  recalled 
the  impression  left  upon  her  mind,  she  was 
constrained  to  think  that  she  had,  somehow, 
totally  misunderstood  him ;  for  he  had  certainly 
seemed  to  talk  as  if  Ida,  instead  of  being  tha"t^\ 
most  utterly,  pathetically  dead  of  all  dead 
things,  —  the  past  self  of  a  living  person, — 
were  possibly  not  dead  at  all ;  as  if,  in  fact, 
she  might  have  a  spiritual  existence,  like  that 
ascribed  to  the  souls  of  those  other  dead  whose 
bodies  are  laid  in  the  grave. 

Decidedly,  she  must  have  misunderstood  him. 

Some  months  later,  on  one  of  the  last  days 
of  June,  he  graduated.  Miss  Ludington  would 
have  attended  the  graduation  exercises  but  for 
the  fact  that  her  long  seclusion  from  society 
made  the  idea  of  going  away  from  home  and 
mingling  with  strangers  intolerable.  She  had 
expected  him  home  the  morning  after  his 
graduation.  When,  however,  she  came  down 
stairs,  expecting  to  greet  him  at  the  breakfast 
table,  she  found  instead  a  letter  from  him,  which, 


24  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

to  her  further  astonishment,  consisted  of  several 
closely  written  sheets.  What  could  have 
possessed  him  to  write  her  this  laborious  letter 
on  the  very  day  of  his  return? 

The  letter  began  by  telling  her  that  he  had 
accepted  an  invitation  from  a  class-mate,  and 
should  not  be  home  for  a  couple  of  days.  "But 
this  is  only  an  excuse,"  he  went  on ;  "  the  true 
reason  that  I  do  not  at  once  return  is  that  you 
may  have  a  day  or  two  to  think  over  the 
contents  of  this  letter  before  you  see  me ;  for 
what  I  have  to  say  will  seem  very  startling  to 
you  at  first.  I  was  trying  to  prepare  you  for  it 
when  I  talked,  as  you  evidently  thought,  so 
strangely,  about  Ida,  the  last  time  I  was  at 
home ;  but  you  were  only  mystified,  and  I  was 
not  ready  to  explain.  A  certain  timidity  held 
me  back.  It  was  so  great  a  matter  that  I  was 
afraid  to  broach  it  by  word  of  mouth  lest  I 
might  fail  to  put  it  in  just  the  best  way  before 
your  mind,  and  its  strangeness  might  terrify  you 
before  you  could  be  led  to  consider  its  reason- 


MISS  LUDINGTON^S  SISTER.  2$ 

ableness.  But,  now  that  I  am  coming  home  to 
stay,  I  should  not  be  able  to  keep  it  from  you, 
and  it  has  seemed  to  me  better  to  write  you  in 
this  way,  so  that  you  may  have  time  fully  to 
debate  the  matter  with  your  own  heart  before 
you  see  me.  Do  you  remember  the  last  evening 
that  I  was  at  home,  my  asking  you  if  you  did 
not  sometimes  have  a  sense  of  Ida's  presence? 
You  looked  at  me  as  if  you  thought  I  were 
losing  my  wits.  What  did  I  mean,  you  asked, 
by  speaking  of  her  as  a  living  person?  But  I 
was  not  ready  to  speak,  and  I  put  you  off. 

"  I  am  going  to  answer  your  question  now. 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  how  and  why  I  believe 
that  she  is  neither  lost  nor  dead,  but  a  living  and 
immortal  spirit.  For  this,  nothing  less  than 
this,  is  my  absolute  assurance,  the  conviction 
which  I  ask  you  to  share. 

"  But  stop,  let  us  go  back.  Let  us  assume 
nothing.  Let  us  reason  it  all  out  carefully 
from  the  beginning.  Let  me  forget  that  I  am 
her  lover.  Let  me  be  stiff,  and  slow,  and  formal 


26  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

as  a  logician,  while  I  prove  that  my  darling 
lives  forever.  And  you,  follow  me  carefully,  to 
see  if  I  slip.  Forget  what  ineffable  thing  she  is 
to  you ;  forget  what  it  is  to  you  that  she  lives. 
Do  not  let  your  eyes  fill ;  do  not  let  your  brain 
swim.  It  would  be  madness  to  believe  it  if  it 
is  not  true.  Listen,  then  :  — 

"  You  know  that  men  speak  of  human  beings, 
taken  singly,  as  individuals.  It  is  taken  for 
granted  in  the  common  speech  that  the  indi 
vidual  is  the  unit  of  humanity,  not  to  be  sub 
divided.  That  is,  indeed,  what  the  etymology 
of  the  word  means.  Nevertheless,  the  slightest 
reflection  will  cause  any  one  to  see  that  this 
^assumption  is  a  most  mistaken  one.  The  indi 
vidual  is  no  more  the  unit  of  humanity  than  is 
the  tribe  or  family ;  but,  like  them,  is  a  collec 
tive  noun,  and  stands  for  a  number  of  distinct 
persons,  related  one  to  another  in  a  particular 
way,  and  having  certain  features  of  resem 
blance.  The  persons  composing  a  family  are 
related  both  collaterally  and  by  succession  or 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2/ 

descent,  while  the  persons  composing  an  indi 
vidual  are  related  by  succession  only.  They 
are  called  infancy,  childhood,  youth,  man 
hood,  maturity,  age,  and  dotage. 

"  These  persons  are  very  unlike  one  another. 
Striking  physical,  mental,  and  moral  differences 
exist  between  them.  Infancy  and  childhood 
are  incomprehensible  to  manhood,  and  manhood 
not  less  so  to  them.  The  youth  looks  forward 
with  disgust  to  the  old  age  which  is  to  follow 
him,  and  the  old  man  has  far  more  in  common 
with  other  old  men,  his  own  contemporaries, 
than  with  the  youth  who  preceded  him.  How 
frequently  do  we  see  the  youth  vicious  and  de 
praved,  and  the  man  who  follows  him-  upright 
and  virtuous,  hating  iniquity !  How  often,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  a  pure  and  innocent  girlhood 
succeeded  by  a  dissolute  and  shameless  woman 
hood  !  In  many  cases  age  looks  back  upon 
youth  with  inexpressible  longing  and  tenderness, 
and  quite  as  often  with  shame  and  remorse ;  but 
in  all  cases  with  the  same  consciousness  of  pro- 


28  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

found  contrast,  and  of  a  great  gulf  fixed  be 
tween. 

"  If  the  series  of  persons  which  constitutes  an 
individual  could  by  any  magic  be  brought  to 
gether  and  these  persons  confronted  with  one 
another,  in  how  many  cases  would  the  result  be 
mutual  misunderstanding,  disgust,  and  even  ani 
mosity?  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  Saul,  the 
persecutor  of  the  disciples  of  Jesus,  who  held 
the  garments  of  them  that  stoned  Stephen, 
should  be  confronted  with  his  later  self,  Paul 
the  apostle,  would  there  not  be  reason  to  antici 
pate  a  stormy  interview?  For  there  is  no  more 
ground  to  suppose  that  Saul  would  be  con 
verted  to  Paul's  view  than  the  reverse.  Each 
was  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind  as  to  what 
he  did. 

"  But  for  the  fact  that  each  one  of  the  persons 
who  together  constitute  an  individual  is  well 
off  the  field  before  his  successor  comes  upon  it, 
we  should  not  infrequently  see  the  man  collaring 
his  own  youth,  handing  him  over  to  the  author- 


MISS  LUDINGTOff'S  SISTER.  29 

ities,  and  preferring  charges  against  him  as  a 
rascally  fellow. 

"  Not  by  any  means  are  the  successive  persons 
of  an  individual  always  thus  out  of  harmony 
with  one  another.  In  many,  perhaps  in  a  major 
ity,  of  cases,  the  same  general  principles  and 
ideals  are  recognized  by  the  man  which  were 
adopted  by  the  boy,  and  as  much  sympathy  ex 
ists  between  them  as  is  possible  in  view  of  the 
different  aspects  which  the  world  necessarily 
presents  to  youth  and  age.  In  such  cases,  no 
doubt,  could  the  series  of  persons  constitut 
ing  the  individual  be  brought  together,  a  scene 
of  inexpressibly  tender  and  intimate  communion 
would  ensue. 

"  But,  though  no  magic  may  bring  back  our 
past  selves  to  earth,  may  we  not  hope  to  meet 
them  hereafter  in  some  other  world  ?  Nay,  must 
we  not  expect  so  to  meet  them  if  we  believe  in 
the  immortality  of  human  souls?  For  if  our 
past  selves,  who  were  dead  before  we  were  alive, 
had  no  souls,  then  why  suppose  our  present 


3<D  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

selves  have  any?  Childhood,  youth,  and  man 
hood  are  the  sweetest,  the  fairest,  the  noblest,  the 
strongest  of  the  persons  who  together  constitute 
an  individual.  Are  they  soulless  ?  Do  they  go 
down  in  darkness  to  oblivion  while  immortality 
is  reserved  for  the  withered  soul  of  age  ?  If  we 
must  believe  that  there  is  but  one  soul  to  all 
the  persons  of  an  individual  it  would  be  easier 
to  believe  that  it  belongs  to  youth  or  manhood, 
and  that  age  is  soulless.  For  if  youth,  strong- 
winged  and  ardent,  full  of  fire  and  power,  per 
ish,  leaving  nothing  behind  save  a  few  traces 
in  the  memory,  how  shall  the  flickering  spirit  of 
age  have  strength  to  survive  the  blast  of  death  ? 
"  The  individual,  in  its  career  of  seventy  years, 
has  not  one  body,  but  many,  each  wholly  new. 
It  is  a  commonplace  of  physiology  that  there  is 
not  a  particle  in  the  body  to-day  that  was  in  it 
a  few  years  ago.  Shall  we  say  that  none  of 
these  bodies  has  a  soul  except  the  last,  merely 
because  the  last  decays  more  suddenly  than  the 
others  ? 


MISS  L  UDING  TON 'S  SISTER.  31 

"  Or  is  it  maintained  that,  although  there  is 
such  utter  diversity — physical,  mental,  moral  — 
between  infancy  and  manhood,  youth  and  age, 
nevertheless,  there  is  a  certain  essence  com 
mon  to  them  all,  and  persisting  unchanged 
through  them  all,  and  that  this  is  the  soul  of 
the  individual?  But  such  an  essence  as  should 
be  the  same  in  the  babe  and  the  man,  the  youth 
and  the  dotard,  could  be  nothing  more  than  a 
colorless  abstraction,  without  distinctive  quali 
ties  of  any  kind,  —  a  mere  principle  of  life  like 
the  fabled  jelly  protoplasm.  Such  a  fancy  re 
duces  the  hope  of  immortality  to  an  absurdity. 

"  No  !  no  !  It  is  not  any  such  grotesque  or 
fragmentary  immortality  that  God  has  given  us. 
The  Creator  does  not  administer  the  universe 
on  so  niggardly  a  plan.  Either  there  is  no  im 
mortality  for  us  which  is  intelligible  or  satisfy 
ing,  or  childhood,  youth,  manhood,  age,  and  all 
the  other  persons  who  make  up  an  individual, 
live  forever,  and  one  day  will  meet  and  be  to 
gether  in  God's  eternal  present;  and  when  the 


32  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

several  souls  of  an  individual  are  in  harmony, 
no  doubt  He  will  perfect  their  felicity  by  join 
ing  them  with  a  tie  that  shall  be  incomparably 
more  tender  and  intimate  than  any  earthly 
union  ever  dreamed  of,  constituting  a  life  one 
yet  manifold,  —  a  harp  of  many  strings,  not 
struck  successively  as  here  on  earth,  but  blend 
ing  in  rich  accord. 

"And  now  I  beg  you  not  to  suppose  that  what 
I  have  tried  to  demonstrate  is  any  hasty  or  ill- 
considered  fancy.  It  was,  indeed,  at  first  but 
a  dream  with  which  the  eyes  of  my  sweet 
mistress  inspired  me,  but  from  a  dream  it  has 
grown  into  a  belief,  and  in  these  last  months 
into  a  conviction  which  I  am  sure  nothing  can 
shake.  If  you  can  share  it  the  long  mourning 
of  your  life  will  be  at  an  end.  For  my  own 
part  I  could  never  return  to  the  old  way  of 
thinking  without  relapsing  into  unutterable 
despair.  To  do  so  would  be  virtually  to  give 
up  faith  in  any  immortality  at  all  worth 
speaking  of.  For  it  is  the  long  procession  of 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  33 

our  past  selves,  each  with  its  own  peculiar  charm 
and  incommunicable  quality,  slipping  away  from 
us  as  we  pass  on,  and  not  the  last  self  of  all 
whom  the  grave  entraps,  which  constitutes  our 
chief  contribution  to  mortality.  What  shall  it 
avail  for  the  grave  to  give  up  its  handful  if 
there  be  no  immortality  for  this  great  multi 
tude?  God  would  not  mock  us  thus.  He  has 
power  not  only  over  the  grave,  but  over  the 
viewless  sepulchre  of  the  past,  and  not  one  of 
the  souls  to  which  he  has  ever  given  life  will 
be  found  wanting  on  the  day  when  he  makes 
up  his  jewels." 


34  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER  III. 

*"  I  X)  understand  the  impression  which  Paul's 
-*•  letter  produced  upon  Miss  Ludington 
imagine,  in  the  days  before  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead  was  preached,  with  what  effect  the 
convincing  announcement  of  that  doctrine 
would  have  fallen  on  the  ears  of  one  who  had 
devoted  her  life  to  hopeless  regrets  over  the 
ashes  of  a  friend. 

And  yet  at  no  time  have  men  been  wholly 
without  belief  in  some  form  of  survival  beyond 
the  grave,  and  such  a  bereaved  woman  of 
antiquity  would  merely  have  received  a  more 
clear  and  positive  assurance  of  what  she  had 
vaguely  imagined  before.  But  that  there  was 
any  resurrection  for  her  former  self,  —  that  the 
bright  youth  which  she  had  so  yearned  after 
and  lamented  could  anywhere  still  exist,  in  a 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  35 

mode  however  shadowy,  Miss  Ludington  had 
never  so  much  as  dreamed. 

There  might  be  immortality  for  all  things 
else ;  the  birds  and  beasts,  and  even  the  lowest 
forms  of  life,  might,  under  some  form,  in  some 
world,  live  again ;  but  no  priest  had  ever 
promised,  nor  any  poet  ever  dreamed,  that  the 
title  of  a  man's  past  selves  to  a  life  immortal 
is  as  indefeasible  as  that  of  his  present  self. 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  doubt,  to  quibble, 
or  to  question,  concerning  the  grounds  of  this 
great  hope.  From  the  first  moment  that  she 
comprehended  the  purport  of  Paul's  argument, 
she  had  accepted  its  conclusion  as  an  indubita 
ble  revelation,  and  only  wondered  that  she  had 
never  thought  of  it  herself,  so  natural,  so 
inevitable,  so  incontrovertible  did  it  seem. 

And  as  a  sun-burst  in  an  instant  transforms 
the  sad  fields  of  November  into  a  bright  and 
cheerful  landscape,  so  did  this  revelation  sud 
denly  illumine  her  sombre  life. 

All  day  she  went  about  the  house   and  the 


36  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

village  like  one  in  a  dream,  smiling  and  weep 
ing,  and  reading  Paul's  letter  over  and  over 
through  eyes  swimming  with  a  joy  unutter 
able. 

In  the  afternoon,  with  tender,  tremulous 
fingers  she  removed  the  crape  from  the  frame 
of  Ida's  picture,  which  it  had  draped  for  so 
many  years.  As  she  was  performing  this  sym 
bolic  act  it  seemed  to  the  old  lady  that  the 
fair  young  face  smiled  upon  her.  "  Forgive 
me  !  "  she  murmured.  "  How  could  I  ever  have 
thought  you  dead ! " 

It  was  not  till  evening  that  her  servants 
reminded  her  that  she  had  not  eaten  that  day, 
and  induced  her  to  take  food. 

The  next  afternoon  Paul  arrived.  He  had 
not  been  without  very  serious  doubt  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  his  argument  for  the  immor 
tality  of  past  selves  might  impress  Miss 
Ludington.  A  mild  melancholy  such  as 
hers,  sometimes  becomes  sweet  by  long  indul 
gence.  She  might  not  welcome  opinions 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  37 

which  revolutionized  the  fixed  ideas  of  her  life, 
even  though  they  should  promise  a  more 
cheerful  philosophy.  If  she  did  not  accept 
his  belief,  but  found  it  chimerical  and  visionary, 
the  effect  of  its  announcement  upon  her  mind 
could  only  be  unpleasantly  disturbing.  It  was, 
therefore,  not  without  some  anxiety  that  he 
approached  the  house. 

But  his  first  glimpse  of  her,  as  she  stood  in 
the  door  awaiting  him,  dissipated  his  apprehen 
sions.  She  wore  a  smiling  face,  and  the  deep 
black  in  which  she  always  dressed  was  set  off, 
for  the  first  time  since  his  knowledge  of  her, 
with  a  bit  or  two  of  bright  color. 

She  said  not  a  word,  but,  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  led  him  into  the  sitting-room. 

That  morning  she  had  sent  into  Brooklyn  for 
immortelles,  and  had  spent  the  day  in  festoon 
ing  them  about  Ida's  picture,  so  that  now  the 
sweet  girlish  face  seemed  smiling  upon  them 
out  of  a  veritable  bower  of  the  white  flowers  of 
immortality. 


38  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Miss  Ludington 
seemed  a  changed  woman,  such  blitheness  did 
the  new  faith  she  had  found  bring  into  her 
life.  The  conviction  that  the  past  was  deathless, 
and  her  bright  girlhood  immortal,  took  all  the 
melancholy  out  of  retrospection.  Nay,  more 
than  that,  it  turned  retrospection  into  anticipa 
tion.  She  no  longer  viewed  her  youth-time 
through  the  pensive  haze  of  memory,  but  the 
rosy  mist  of  hope.  She  should  see  it  again, 
for  was  it  not  safe  with  God?  Her  pains  to 
guard  the  memory  of  the  beautiful  past,  to 
preserve  it  from  the  second  death  of  forgetful- 
ness,  were  now  all  needless ;  she  could  trust  it 
with  God,  to  be  restored  to  her  in  his  eternal 
present,  its  lustre  undimmed,  and  no  trait  miss 
ing. 

The  laying  aside  of  her  mourning  garb  was 
but  one  indication  of  the  change  that  had  come 
over  her. 

The  whole  household,  from  scullion  to 
coachman,  caught  the  inspiration  of  her  brighter 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  39 

mood.  The  servants  laughed  aloud  about  the 
house.  The  children  of  the  gardener,  ever 
before  banished  to  other  parts  of  the  grounds, 
played  unrebuked  in  the  sacred  street  of  the 
silent  village. 

As  for  Paul,  since  the  revelation  had  come 
to  him  that  the  lady  of  his  love  was  no  mere 
dream  of  a  life  forever  vanished,  but  was  her 
self  alive  forevermore,  and  that  he  should  one 
day  meet  her,  his  love  had  assumed  a  color 
and  a  reality  it  had  never  possessed  before. 
To  him  this  meant  all  it  would  have  meant  to 
the  lover  of  a  material  maiden,  to  be  admitted 
to  her  immediate  society. 

The  sense  of  her  presence  in  the  village  im 
parted  to  the  very  air  a  fine  quality  of  intoxi 
cation.  The  place  was  her  shrine,  and  he  lived 
in  it  as  in  a  sanctuary. 

It  was  not  as  if  he  should  have  to  wait  many 
years,  till  death,  before  he  should  see  her.  As 
soon  as  he  gave  place  to  the  later  self  which 
was  to  succeed  him,  he  should  be  with  her. 


4O  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Already  his  boyish  self  had  no  doubt  greeted 
her,  and  she  had  taken  in  her  arms  the  baby 
Paul  who  had  held  his  little  arms  out  to  her 
picture  twenty  years  before. 

To  be  in  love  with  the  spirit  of  a  girl,  how 
ever   beautiful  she  might  have    been  when  on 
earth,  would    doubtless    seem    to    most   young 
men    a   very  chimerical    sort  of  passion ;    but 
Paul,    on   the    other   hand,    looked    upon    the 
;  species  of  attraction  which  they  called  love  as 
\  scarcely  more    than  a  gross  appetite.     During 

>J 

his  absence  from  home  he  had  seen  no  woman's 
face  that  for  a  moment  rivalled  Ida's  portrait. 
Shy  and  fastidious,  he  had  found  no  pleasure 
in  ladies'  society,  and  had  listened  to  his  class 
mates'  talk  of  flirtations  and  conquests  with 
secret  contempt.  What  did  they  know  of  love? 
What  had  their  coarse  and  sensuous  ideas  in 
common  with  the  rare  and  delicate  passion  to 
which  his  heart  was  dedicated, —  a  love  asking 
and  hoping  for  no  reward,  but  sufficient  to 
itself? 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  41 

He  had  spent  but  a  few  weeks  at  home  when 
Miss  Ludington  began  to  talk  quite  seriously 
to  him  about  studying  for  some  profession. 
He  was  rather  surprised  at  this,  for  he  had  sup 
posed  she  would  be  glad  to  have  him  at  home, 
for  a  while  at  least,  now  that  he  had  done  with 
college.  To  Paul,  at  this  time,  the  idea  of  any 
pursuit  which  would  take  him  away  from  the 
village  was  extremely  distasteful,  and  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  finding  excuses  enough  for  procras 
tinating  a  step  for  which,  indeed,  no  sort  of 
urgency  could  be  pretended. 

He  was  to  be  Miss  Ludington's  heir,  and  any 
profession  which  he  might  adopt  would  be 
purely  ornamental  at  most. 

Finding  that  he  showed  no  disposition  to 
consider  a  profession  she  dropped  that  point 
and  proposed  that  he  should  take  six  months 
of  foreign  travel,  as  a  sort  of  rounding  off  of 
his  college  course.  To  the  advantages  of  this 
project  he  was,  however,  equally  insensible. 
When  she  urged  it  on  him  he  said,  "Why, 


42  MISS  LUDINGTON'S   SISTER. 

aunty,  one  would  say  you  were  anxious  to  get 
rid  of  me.  Don't  we  get  on  well  together  ? 
Have  you  taken  a  dislike  to  me  ?  I'm  sure 
I'm  very  comfortable  here.  I  don't  want  to  do 
anything  different,  or  to  go  off  anywhere.  Why 
won't  you  let  me  stay  with  you  ?  " 

And  so  she  had  to  let  the  matter  drop, 
The  truth  was  she    had  become  anxious  to 
get  him  away ;    but  it  was  on  his  account,  not 
hers. 

In  putting  his  room  to  rights  one  day  since 
his  return  from  college  she  had  come  upon  a 
scrap  of  paper  containing  some  verses  addressed 
"  To  Ida."  Paul  had  rather  a  pretty  knack  at 
turning  rhymes,  and  the  tears  came  to  Miss 
Ludington's  eyes  as  she  read  these  lines. 
They  were  an  attempt  at  a  love  sonnet,  throb 
bing  with  passion,  and  yet  so  mystical  in  some 
of  the  allusions  that  nothing  but  her  knowledge 
of  Paul's  devotion  to  Ida  would  have  given  her 
a  clew  to  his  meaning.  She  was  filled  with 
apprehension  as  she  considered  the  effect  which 


MISS  LUDING  TON'S  SISTER.  43 

this  infatuation,  if  it  should  continue  to  gain 
strength,  might  have  upon  one  of  Paul's  dreamy 
temperament  and  excessive  ideality.  That  she 
had  devoted  her  own  lonely  and  useless  life  to 
the  cult  of  the  past  did  not  greatly  matter, 
although  in  the  light  of  her  present  happier 
faith  she  saw  and  regretted  her  mistake;  but 
as  for  permitting  Paul's  life  to  be  overshadowed 
by  the  same  influence  she  could  not  consent 
to  it.  Something  must  be  done  to  get  him 
away  from  home,  or  at  least  to  divert  the  cur 
rent  of  his  thoughts.  The  failure  of  her  efforts 
to  induce  him  to  consider  any  scheme  that 
involved  his  leaving  the  village  threw  her  into 
a  state  of  great  uneasiness. 


44  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  T  about  this  time  it  chanced  that  Miss 
•*-  *•  Ludington  drove  into  Brooklyn  one  morn 
ing  to  do  some  shopping.  She  was  standing  at 
a  counter  in  a  large  store,  examining  goods,  when 
she  became  aware  that  a  lady  standing  at  an 
other  counter  was  attentively  regarding  her. 
The  lady  in  question  was  of  about  her  own  height 
and  age,  her  hair  being  nearly  white,  like  Miss 
Ludington's ;  but  it  was  evident  from  the  hard 
lines  of  her  face  and  her  almost  shabby  dress 
that  life  had  by  no  means  gone  so  easily  with 
her  as  with  the  lady  she  was  regarding  so 
curiously. 

As  Miss  Ludington  looked  up  she  smiled, 
and,  crossing  the  store,  held  out  her  hand. 
"  Ida  Ludington !  don't  you  know  me  ? " 
Miss  Ludington  scanned  her  face  a  moment, 
and  then,  clasping  her  outstretched  hand,  ex- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  45 

claimed,  delightedly,  "  Why,  Sarah  Cobb,  where 
did  you  come  from  ?  "  and  for  the  next  quarter 
of  an  hour  the  two  ladies,  quite  oblivious  of  the 
clerks  who  were  waiting  on  them,  and  the  cus 
tomers  who  were  jostling  them,  stood  absorbed 
in  the  most  animated  conversation.  They  had 
been  school-girls  together  in  Hilton  forty-five 
years  before,  and,  not  having  met  since  Miss 
Ludington's  removal  from  the  village,  had  nat 
urally  a  great  deal  to  say. 

"  It  is  thirty  years  since  I  have  seen  any  one 
from  Hilton,"  said  Miss  Ludington  at  last,  "  and 
I'm  not  going  to  let  you  escape  me.  You  must 
come  out  with  me  to  my  house  and  stay  over 
night,  and  we  will  talk  old  times  over.  I  would 
not  have  missed  you  for  anything." 

Sarah  Cobb,  who  had  said  that  her  name  was 
now  Mrs.  Slater,  and  that  she  lived  in  New  York, 
having  removed  there  from  Hilton  only  a  few 
years  previous,  seemed  nothing  loath  to  accept 
her  friend's  invitation,  and  it  was  arranged  that 
Miss  Ludington  should  send  her  carriage  to 


46  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

meet  her  at  one  of  the  Brooklyn  ferries  the 
day  following.  Miss  Ludington  wanted  to  send 
the  carnage  to  Mrs.  Slater's  residence  in  New 
York,  but  the  latter  said  that  it  would  be  quite 
as  convenient  for  her  to  take  it  at  the  ferry. 

After  repeated  injunctions  not  to  fail  of  her 
appointment,  Miss  Ludington  finally  bade  her 
old  school-mate  good-by  and  drove  home  in  a 
state  of  pleased  expectancy. 

She  entertained  Paul  at  the  tea-table  with  an 
account  of  her  adventure,  and  gave  him  an  ani 
mated  history  of  the  Cobb  family  in  general 
and  Sarah  in  particular.  She  had  known  Sarah 
ever  since  they  both  could  walk,  and  during  the 
latter  part  of  their  school  life  they  had  been  in 
separable.  The  scholars  had  even  christened 
them  "  The  Twins,"  because  they  were  so  much 
together  and  looked  so  much  alike.  Their  se 
crets  were  always  joint  property. 

The  next  afternoon  Miss  Ludington  went 
herself  in  the  carriage  to  fetch  her  friend  from 
the  ferry.  She  wanted  to  be  with  her  and 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  47 

enjoy  her  surprise  when  she  first  saw  the 
restored  Hilton  on  entering  the  grounds.  In 
this  respect  her  anticipations  were  fully  justi 
fied. 

The  arrangement  of  the  grounds  was  such 
that  a  high  board  fence  protected  the  interior 
from  inquisitive  passers-by  on  the  highway, 
and  the  gate  was  set  in  a  corner,  so  that  no 
considerable  part  of  the  enclosure  was  visible 
from  it.  The  gravelled  driveway,  immediately 
after  entering  the  grounds,  took  a  sharp  turn 
around  the  corner  of  the  gardener's  cottage, 
which  answered  for  a  gate-keeper's  lodge.  The 
moment,  however,  it  was  out  of  sight  from  the 
highway  it  became  transformed  into  a  country 
road,  with  wide,  grassy  borders  and  footpaths 
close  to  the  rail  fences,  while  just  ahead  lay  the 
silent  village,  with  the  small,  brown,  one-story, 
one-roomed  school-house  on  one  side  of  the 
green,  and  the  little  white  box  of  a  meeting 
house,  with  its  gilt  weathercock,  on  the  other. 

As  this  scene  burst  upon  Mrs.  Slater's  view, 


48  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

her  bewilderment  was  amusing  to  witness.  Her 
appearance  for  a  moment  was  really  as  if  she 
believed  herself  the  victim  of  some  sort  of  magic, 
and  suspected  her  friend  of  being  a  sorceress. 
Reassured  on  this  point  by  Miss  Ludington's 
smiling  explanation,  her  astonishment  gave  place 
to  the  liveliest  interest  and  curiosity.  The 
carriage  was  forthwith  stopped  and  sent 
around  to  the  stables,  while  the  two  friends 
went  on  foot  through  the  village.  Every  house, 
every  fence-corner,  every  lilac-bush  or  clump  of 
hollyhocks,  or  row  of  currant-bushes  in  the 
gardens,  suggested  some  reminiscence,  and  the 
two  old  ladies  were  presently  laughing  and 
crying  at  once.  At  every  dwelling  they 
lingered  long,  and  went  on  reluctantly  with 
many  backward  glances,  and  all  their  speech 
was  but  a  repetition  of,  "  Don't  you  remember 
this?"  and  "Do  you  remember  that?" 

Mrs.  Slater,  having  left  Hilton  but  recently, 
was  able  to  explain  just  what  had  been 
removed,  replaced,  or  altered  subsequent  to 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  49 

Miss  Ludington's  flight.  The  general  appear 
ance  of  the  old  street,  Mrs.  Slater  said, 
remained  much  the  same,  despite  the  changes 
which  had  driven  Miss  Ludington  away;  but 
new  streets  had  been  opened  up,  and  the  popu 
lation  of  the  village  had  trebled,  and  become 
largely  foreign. 

In  their  slow  progress  they  came  at  last  to 
the  school-house. 

The  door  was  ajar,  and  they  entered  on  tiptoe, 
like  tardy  scholars.  With  a  glance  of  mutual 
intelligence  they  hung  their  hats,  each  on  the 
one  of  the  row  of  wooden  pegs  in  the  entry, 
which  had  been  hers  as  a  school-girl,  and 
through  the  open  door  entered  the  silent  school 
room  and  sat  down  in  the  self-same  seats  in 
which  two  maidens,  so  unlike  them,  yet  linked 
to  them  by  so  strangely  tender  a  tie,  had 
reigned  as  school-room  belles  nearly  half  a  cen 
tury  before.  In  hushed  voices,  with  moist  eyes, 
and  faces  shining  with  the  light  of  other  days, 
these  gray-haired  women  talked  together  of  the 


50  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

scenes  which  that  homely  old  room  had  wit 
nessed,  the  long-silent  laughter,  and  the  voices, 
no  more  heard  on  earth,  with  which  it  had 
once  echoed. 

There  in  the  corner  stood  a  great  wrought- 
iron  stove,  the  counterpart  of  the  one  around 
whose  red-hot  sides  they  had  shivered,  in  their 
short  dresses,  on  cold  winter  mornings.  On  the 
walls  hung  the  quaint  maps  of  that  period 
whence  they  had  received  geographical  impres 
sions,  strangely  antiquated  now.  Along  one 
side  of  the  room  ran  a  black-board,  on  which 
they  had  been  wont  to  demonstrate  their  igno 
rance  of  algebra  and  geometry  to  the  complete 
satisfaction  of  the  master,  while  behind  them  as 
they  sat  was  a  row  of  recitation  benches,  asso 
ciated  with  so  many  a  trying  ordeal  of  school 
girl  existence. 

ff  Do  you  ever  think  where  the  girls  are  in 
whose  seats  we  are  sitting?"  said  Mrs.  Slater, 
musingly.  "  I  can  remember  myself  as  a  girl, 
more  or  less  distinctly,  and  can  even  be 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  51 

sentimental  about  her;  but  it  doesn't  seem 
to  me  that  I  am  the  same  person  at  all ; 
I  can't  realize  it." 

"Of  course  you  can't  realize  it.  Why  should 
you  expect  to  realize  what  is  not  true?  "  replied 
Miss  Ludington. 

"  But  I  am  the  same  person,"  responded  Mrs. 
Slater. 

Miss  Ludington  regarded   her  with  a  smile. 

"  You  have  kept  your  looks  remarkably,  my 
dear,"  she  said.  "  You  did  not  lose  them  all  at 
once,  as  I  did ;  but  isn't  it  a  little  audacious  to 
try  to  pass  yourself  off  as  a  school-girl  of  seven 
teen?" 

Mrs.  Slater  laughed.  "  But  I  once  was  she, 
if  I  am  not  now,"  she  said.  "You  won't  deny 
that." 

"  I  certainly  shall  deny  it,  with  your  per 
mission,"  replied  Miss  Ludington.  "I  remem 
ber  her  very  well,  and  she  was  no  more  an  old 
woman  like  you  than  you  are  a  young  girl  like 
her." 


52  MISS  LUDINGTON1  S  SISTER. 

Mrs.  Slater  laughed  again.  "  How  sharp 
you  are  getting,  my  dear  !  "  she  said.  "  Since  you 
are  so  close  after  me  I  shall  have  to  admit 
that  I  have  changed  slightly  in  appearance 
in  the  forty  odd  years  since  we  went  to  school 
at  Hilton,  and  I'll  admit  that  my  heart  is  even 
less  like  a  girl's  than  my  face;  but,  though 
I  have  changed  so  much,  I  am  still  the  same 
person,  I  suppose." 

"Which  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Miss 
Ludington.  "  You  say  in  one  breath  that  you 
are  a  changed  person,  and  that  you  are  the 
same  person.  If  you  are  a  changed  person  you 
can't  be  the  same,  and  if  you  are  the  same  you 
can't  have  changed." 

"  I  should  really  like  to  know  what  you  are 
driving  at,"  said  Mrs.  Slater,  calmly.  "  It  seems 
to  me  that  we  are  disputing  about  words." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  about  words  !  It  is  a  great  deal 
more  than  a  question  of  words,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Ludington.  "  You  say  that  we  old  women 
and  the  girls  who  sat  here  forty  years  and  more 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  53 

ago  are  the  same  persons,  notwithstanding 
we  are  so  completely  transformed  without 
and  within.  I  say  we  are  not  the  same,  and 
thank  God,  for  their  sweet  sakes,  that  we  are 
not.  Surely  that  is  not  a  mere  dispute  about 
words." 

"But,  if  we  are  not  those  girls,  then  what 
has  become  of  them?"  asked  Mrs.  Slater. 

"  You  might  better  ask  what  had  become  of 
them  if  you  had  to  seek  them  in  us ;  but  I  will 
tell  you  what  has  become  of  them,  Sarah.  It 
is  what  will  become  of  us  when  we,  in  our  turn, 
vanish  from  earth,  and  the  places  that  know 
us  now  shall  know  us  no  more.  They  are 
immortal  with  God,  and  we  shall  one  day 
meet  them  over  there." 

"  What  a  very  odd  idea !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Slater,  regarding  her  friend  with  astonishment. 

Miss  Ludington  flushed  slightly  as  she  replied, 
"  I  don't  think  it  half  so  odd,  and  not  nearly 
so  repulsive,  as  your  notion,  that  we  old 
women  are  the  mummies  of  the  girls  who  came 


54  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

before  us.  It  is  easier,  as  well  as  far  sweeter, 
for  me  to  believe  that  our  youth  is  somewhere 
immortal,  than  that  it  has  been  withered, 
shrivelled,  desiccated  into  our  old  age.  Oh,  no, 
my  dear,  Paradise  is  not  merely  a  garden  of 
withered  flowers !  We  shall  find  the  rose  and 
lily  of  our  life  blooming  there." 

The  hours  had  slipped  away  unnoted  as  the 
friends  talked  together,  and  now  the  lengthen 
ing  shadows  on  the  school-room  floor  recalled 
Miss  Ludington  to  the  present,  and  to  the  duties 
of  a  hostess. 

As  they  walked  slowly  across  the  green 
toward  the  homestead,  she  told  her  friend  more 
fully  of  this  belief  in  the  immortality  of  past 
selves  which  had  so  recently  come  to  her,  and 
especially  how  it  had  quite  taken  away  the 
melancholy  with  which  she  had  all  her  life 
before  looked  back  upon  her  youth.  Mrs. 
Slater  listened  in  silence. 

"  Where  on  earth  did  you  get  that  portrait  ?  " 
she  exclaimed,  as  Miss  Ludington,  after  taking 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  55 

her  on  a  tour  through  the  house  before  tea, 
brought  her  into  the  sitting-room. 

"Whom  does  it  remind  you  of?"  asked 
Miss  Ludington. 

"  I  know  whom  it  reminds  me  of,"  replied 
Mrs.  Slater ;  "  but  how  it  ever  got  here  is  what 
puzzles  me." 

"  I  thought  you  would  recognize  it,"  said 
Miss  Ludington,  with  a  pleased  smile.  "  I 
suppose  you  think  it  odd  you  should  never 
have  seen  it,  considering  whom  it  is  of  ?  " 

"  I  do,  certainly,"     replied  Mrs.  Slater. 

"You  see,"  explained  Miss  Ludington,  "I 
did  not  have  it  painted  till  after  I  left  Hilton. 
You  remember  that  little  ivory  portrait  of 
myself,  at  seventeen,  which  I  thought  so 
much  of  after  I  lost  my  looks  ?  Well,  this 
portrait  I  had  enlarged  from  that.  I  have 
always  believed  that  it  was  very  like,  but  you 
don't  know  what  a  reassurance  it  is  to  me  to 
have  you  recognize  it  so  instantly." 

At   the   tea-table    Paul    appeared,    and    was 


56  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

introduced  to  Mrs.  Slater,  who  regarded  him 
with  considerable  interest.  Miss  Ludington 
had  informed  her  that  he  was  her  cousin  and 
heir,  and  had  told  her  something  of  his 
romantic  devotion  to  the  Ida  of  the  picture. 
Paul,  who  from  Miss  Ludington  had  learned 
all  there  was  to  be  known  about  the  per 
sons  and  places  of  old  Hilton,  entered  with 
much  interest  into  the  conversation  of  the 
ladies  on  the  subject,  and  after  tea  accom 
panied  them  in  their  stroll  through  that  part 
of  the  village  which  they  had  not  inspected 
before. 

When  they  returned  to  the  house  it  was  quite 
dark,  and  they  had  lights  in  the  sitting-room, 
and  refreshments  were  served.  Mrs.  Slater's 
eyes  were  frequently  drawn  toward  the  picture 
over  the  fireplace,  and  some  reference  of  hers 
to  the  immortelles  in  which  it  was  framed, 
turned  the  conversation  upon  the  subject  that 
Miss  Ludington  and  she  had  been  discussing  in 
the  school-house. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  57 

Mrs,  Slater,  whose  conversation  showed  her 
to  be  a  woman  of  no  great  culture,  but  unusual 
force  of  character  and  intelligence,  expressed 
herself  as  interested  in  the  idea  of  the  immor 
tality  of  past  selves,  but  decidedly  sceptical. 
Paul  grew  eloquent  in  maintaining  its  truth  and 
reasonableness,  and,  indeed,  that  it  was  the 

only  intelligible  theory  of  immortality  that  was 

* — 7 
possible.     The    idea    that   the  same  soul  suc-j 

cessively  animated  infancy,  childhood,  youth, 
manhood,  and  maturity,  was,  he  argued,  but 
a  modification  of  the  curious  East  Indian 
dream  of  metempsychosis,  according  to  which 
every  soul  is  supposed  to  inhabit  in  turn  in-  I 
numerable  bodies. 

"You  almost  persuade  me,"  said  Mrs.  Slater, 
at  last.  "But  I  never  heard  of  the  spirit  of 
anybody's  past  self  appearing  to  them.  If 
there  are  such  spirits  why  have  they  never 
manifested  themselves?  Nobody  ever  heard 
of  the  spirit  of  one's  past  self  appearing  at  a 
spiritualist  seance,  for  instance." 


58  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

"  That  is  one  evidence  among  others,"  replied 
Paul,  "  that  spiritualism  is  a  fraud.  The  medi 
ums  merely  follow  the  vulgar  superstition  in 
the  kind  of  spirits  that  they  claim  to  produce." 

"  Very  likely  you  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  Slater. 
"  In  fact,  I  presume  you  are  quite  right.  And 
yet,  if  I  really  believed  as  you  do,  do  you 
know  what  I  would  do?  I  would  go  to  some 
of  the  spirit-mediums  over  in  New  York,  of 
whom  the  papers  are  giving  such  wonderful 
accounts,  and  let  them  try  to  materialize  for 
me  the  spirit  of  my  youth.  Probably  they 
couldn't  do  it,  but  possibly  they  might;  and 
a  mighty  little  sight,  Mr.  De  Riemer,  is  more 
convincing  than  all  the  belief  in  the  world.  If 
I  could  see  the  spirit  of  my  youth  face  to  face, 
I  should  believe  that  it  had  a  separate  exist 
ence  from  my  own.  Otherwise,  I  don't  believe 
I  ever  could." 

"  But  the  mediums  are  a  set  of  humbugs !  " 
exclaimed  Paul ;  and  then  he  added,  "  I  beg 
your  pardon.  Perhaps  you  are  a  spiritualist?" 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  59 

"You  need  not  beg  my  pardon,"  said  Mrs. 
Slater,  good-humoredly.  "  I  am  not  a  spir 
itualist  beyond  thinking  —  and  that  is  only 
lately  —  that  there  may  possibly  be  something 
in  it,  after  all.  Perhaps  there  may  be,  for 
example,  one  part  of  truth  to  a  hundred 
parts  of  fraud.  I  really  don't  believe  there 
is  more.  Now,  as  you  think  the  mediums 
humbugs,  and  I  am  sure  most  of  them  are, 
their  failure  to  accomplish  anything  would 
not  shake  your  faith  in  your  theory,  and  you 
would  only  have  lost  an  evening  and  the  fee 
you  paid  the  medium.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  is  a  bare  possibility, —  mind  you,  I  think 
it  is  no  more  than  that, —  a  bare  possibility, 
say  the  smallest  possible  chance,  but  a  chance 
—  that  you  would  see — her,"  and  Mrs.  Slater 
glanced  at  the  portrait. 

Paul  turned  pale. 

Miss  Ludington,  with  much  agitation,  ex 
claimed,  "  If  I  thought  there  was  any  possi- 


60  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

bility  of  that,   do  you  suppose,   Sarah,  that  I 
would  consider  time  or  money?" 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  would,"  replied  Mrs. 
Slater.  "  You  would  not  need  to ;  but  the 
money  is  something  which  I  should  have  to 
consider,  if  it  were  my  case.  The  best 
materializing  mediums  charge  pretty  well. 
Mrs.  Legrand,  who  I  believe  is  considered  the 
leading  light  just  now,  charges  fifty  dollars  for 
a  private  seance.  Now,  fifty  dollars,  I  suppose, 
does  not  seem  a  large  sum  to  you,  but  it  would 
be  a  great  deal  for  a  poor  woman  like  me  to 
spend.  And  yet  if  I  believed  this  wonderful 
thing  that  you  believe,  and  I  thought  there  was 
one  chance  in  a  million  that  this  woman  could 
demonstrate  it  to  me  by  the  assurance  of  sight, 
I  would  live  on  crusts  from  the  gutter  till  I  had 
earned  the  money  to  go  to  her." 

Paul  rose  from  his  chair,  and,  after  walking 
across  the  floor  once  or  twice,  stood  leaning 
his  arm  on  the  mantel-piece.  He  cleared  his 
throat,  and  said :  — 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  6 1 

"Have  you  ever  seen  this  Mrs.  Legrand 
yourself?  I  mean,  have  you  ever  been  present 
at  one  of  her  seances?" 

"Not  on  my  own  account,"  replied  Mrs. 
Slater.  "  It  was  a  mere  accident  my  chancing 
to  know  anything  about  her.  I  have  a  friend, 
a  Mrs.  Rhinehart,  who  has  recently  lost  her 
husband,  and  she  got  in  a  way  of  going  to  this 
Mrs.  Legrand's  seances  to  see  him,  and  once 
she  took  me  with  her." 

Miss  Ludington  and  Paul  waited  a  moment, 
and  then,  perceiving  that  she  was  not  going  to 
say  anything  more,  exclaimed  in  the  same 
breath,  "Did  you  see  anything?" 

"We  saw  the  figure  of  a  fine-looking  man," 
replied  Mrs.  Slater.  "  We  could  distinguish 
his  features  and  expression  very  plainly,  and 
he  seemed  to  recognize  my  friend.  She  said 
that  it  was  her  husband.  Of  course  I  know 
nothing  about  that.  I  had  never  seen  him 
alive.  It  may  all  have  been  a  humbug,  as  I 
was  prepared  to  believe  it ;  but  I  assure  you  it 


62  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

was  a  curious  business,  and  I  haven't  got  over 
the  impression  which  it  made  on  me,  yet.  I'm 
not  given  to  believing  in  things  that  claim  to 
be  supernatural,  but  I  will  admit  that  what  I 
saw  that  night  was  very  strange.  Humbug  or 
no  humbug,  what  she  saw  seemed  to  comfort 
my  poor  friend  more  than  all  the  religions  or 
philosophies  ever  revealed  or  invented  could 
have  done.  You  see,  these  are  so  vague,  even 
when  we  try  to  believe  them,  and  that  was  so 
plain." 

A  silence  followed  Mrs.  Slater's  words,  during 
which  she  sat  with  an  absent  expression  of 
countenance  and  a  far-away  look,  as  if  recalling 
in  fancy  the  scene  which  she  had  described. 
Miss  Ludington's  hands  trembled  as  they  lay 
together  in  her  lap,  and  she  was  regarding  the 
picture  of  the  girl  over  the  fireplace  with  a  fixed 
and  intense  gaze,  apparently  oblivious  of  all 
else. 

Paul  broke  the  silence.  "  I  am  going  to  see 
this  woman,"  he  said,  quietly.  "You  need  not 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  63 

think  of  going  with  me,  aunty,  unless  you  care 
to.     I  will  go  alone." 

"Do  you  think  I  shall  let  you  go  alone?" 
replied  Miss  Ludington,  in  a  voice  which  she 
steadied  with  difficulty.  "Am  I  not  as  much 
concerned  as  you  are,  Paul?" 

"Where  does  this  Mrs.  Legrand  live?"  Paul 
asked  Mrs.  Slater. 

"I  really  can't  tell  you  that,  Mr.  De  Riemer," 
she  said.  "  It  was  sometime  ago  that  I  attended 
the  seance  I  spoke  of,  and  all  I  recall  is  that  it 
was  somewhere1  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  on 
the  east  side  of  Broadway,  if  I  am  not  mis 
taken." 

"Perhaps  you  could  ascertain  her  address 
from  the  friend  of  whom  you  spoke,  if  it  would 
not  be  too  much  trouble?"  suggested  Miss 
Ludington. 

"  I  might  do  that,"  assented  Mrs.  Slater.  "  If 
she  still  goes  to  the  seances  she  would  know  it. 
But  these  mediums  don't  generally  stay  long  in 
one  place,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  this  Mrs. 


64  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Legrand  may  not  be  in  the  city  now.  But  if  I 
can  get  her  address  for  you  I  will.  And  now, 
my  dear,  as  I  am  rather  tired  after  our  walk 
about  the  village,  and  probably  you  are  too,  I 
will  go  to  my  room." 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  6$ 


CHAPTER  V. 

1\  /TRS.  SLATER  went  away  the  next  morn- 
-*•*•*•  ing.  On  the  following  day  but  one  Miss 
Ludington  received  a  letter  from  her.  She  told 
her  friend  how  glad  she  was  that  she  had  not 
postponed  her  visit  to  her,  for  if  she  had  set  it 
for  a  single  day  later  she  could  not  have  made 
it  at  all.  When  she  returned  home  she  found 
that  her  husband  had  received  an  offer  of  a  lu 
crative  business  position  in  Cincinnati,  contin 
gent  on  his  immediate  removal  there. 

They  had  been  in  a  whirl  of  packing  ever 
since,  and  were  to  take  that  night's  train  for 
Cincinnati,  and  whether  they  ever  again  came 
East  to  live  was  very  doubtful.  In  a  postscript, 
written  crosswise,  she  said :  — 

"  I  have  been  in  such  a  rush  ever  since  I  came 
home  that  I  declare  I  had  clean  forgotten  till 
this  moment  about  my  promise  to  hunt  up  Mrs. 


66  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Legrand's  address  for  you.  Very  likely  you 
have  also  forgotten  by  this  time  our  talk  about 
her,  and  if  so  it  will  not  matter.  But  it  vexes 
me  to  fail  in  a  promise,  and,  if  possible,  I  will 
snatch  a  moment  before  we  leave  to  send  a  note 
to  the  friend  I  spoke  of,  and  ask  her  to  look 
the  woman  up  for  you." 

Instead  of  being  disappointed,  Miss  Luding- 
ton  was,  on  the  whole,  relieved  to  get  this  letter, 
and  inclined  to  hope  that  Mrs.  Slater  had  failed 
to  find  the  time  to  write  her  friend.  In  that 
case  this  extraordinary  project  of  visiting  a 
spiritualist  medium  would  quietly  fall  through, 
which  was  the  best  thing  that  could  happen. 

The  fact  is,  after  sleeping  on  it,  she  had  seen 
clearly  that  such  a  proceeding  for  a  person  of 
her  position  and  antecedents  would  not  only 
be  preposterous,  but  almost  disreputable.  She 
was  astonished  at  herself  to  think  that  her  feel 
ings  could  have  been  so  wrought  upon  as  to 
cause  her  seriously  to  contemplate  such  a  step. 
All  her  life  she  had  held  the  conviction,  which 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  6/ 

she  supposed  to  be  shared  by  all  persons  of 
culture  and  respectability,  that  spiritualism  was  ! 
a  low  and  immoral  superstition,  invariably  im 
plying  fraud  in  its  professors,  and  folly  in  its 
dupes  :  something,  in  fact,  quite  below  the  notice 
of  persons  of  intelligence  or  good  taste.  As 
for  the  idea  that  this  medium  could  show  her 
the  spirit  of  her  former  self,  or  any  other  real 
spirit,  it  was  simply  imbecile  to  entertain  it  for 
a  moment. 

If,  however,  Miss  Ludington  was  relieved  by 
Mrs.  Slater's  letter,  Paul  was  keenly  disap 
pointed.  His  prejudice  against  spiritualism  was 
by  no  means  so  deeply  rooted  as  hers.  In  a 
general  way  he  had  always  believed  mediums 
to  be  frauds,  and  their  shows  mere  shams,  but 
he  had  been  ready  to  allow  with  Mrs.  Slater, 
that,  mixed  up  in  all  this  fraud,  there  might 
be  a  very  little  truth. 

His  mind  admitted  a  bare  possibility  that 
this  Mrs.  Legrand  might  be  able  to  show  him 
the  living  face  and  form  of  his  spirit-love. 


68  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

That  possibility  once  admitted  had  completely 
dominated  his  imagination,  and  it  made  little 
difference  whether  it  was  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  or  one  in  a  million.  He  was  like 
the  victim  of  the  lottery  mania,  whose  ab 
sorption  in  contemplating  the  possibility  of 
drawing  the  prize  renders  him  quite  oblivious 
of  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  blank 
tickets. 

Previous  to  Mrs.  Slater's  visit  he  had  been 
quite  content  in  his  devotion  to  an  ideal  mis 
tress,  for  the  reason  that  any  nearer  approach 
to  her  had  not  occurred  to  him  as  a  possibility. 
But  now  the  suggestion  that  he  might  see  her 
face  to  face  had  so  inflamed  his  imagination 
that  it  was  out  of  the  question  for  him  to 
regain  his  former  serenity.  He  resolved  that, 
in  case  they  should  fail  to  hear  from  Mrs. 
Slater's  friend,  he  would  set  about  finding  Mrs. 
Legrand  himself,  or,  failing  that,  would  go  to 
some  other  medium.  There  would  be  no 
solace  for  the  fever  that  had  now  got  into  his 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  69 

blood,    until    experiment    should     justify    his 
daring   hope,    or  prove   it   baseless. 

However,  the  third  day  after  Mrs.  Slater's 
letter  there  came  one  from  her  friend,  Mrs. 
Rhinehart.  She  said  that  she  had  received  a 
note  from  Mrs.  Slater,  who  had  suddenly  been 
called  to  Cincinnati,  telling  that  Miss  Lud- 
ington  desired  the  address  of  Mrs.  Legrand, 
with  a  view  to  securing  a  private  seance.  She 
could  have  sent  the  address  at  once,  as  she  had 
it ;  but  Mrs.  Legrand  was  so  overrun  with  busi 
ness  that  an  application  to  her  by  letter, 
especially  from  a  stranger  like  Miss  Ludington, 
might  not  have  any  result.  And  so  Mrs. 
Rhinehart,  who  had  been  only  too  happy  to 
oblige  any  friend  of  Mrs.  Slater's,  had  called 
personally  upon  Mrs.  Legrand  to  arrange  for 
the  seance.  The  medium  had  told  her  at  first 
that  she  was  full  of  previous  engagements  for 
a  month  ahead,  and  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  give  Miss  Ludington  a  seance.  When,  how 
ever,  Mrs.  Rhinehart  told  her  that  Miss 


70  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Ludington's  purpose  in  asking  for  the  seance 
was  to  test  the  question  whether  our  past 
selves  have  immortal  souls  distinct  from  our 
present  selves,  Mrs.  Legrand  became  greatly 
interested,  and  at  once  said  that  she  would 
cancel  a  previous  appointment,  and  give  Miss 
Ludington  a  seance  the  following  evening,  at 
her  parlors,  No.  —  East  Tenth  street,  at  nine 
o'clock.  Mrs.  Legrand  had  said  that  while  she 
had  never  heard  a  belief  in  the  immortality 
of  past  selves  avowed,  there  had  not  been 
lacking  in  her  relations  with  the  spirit-world 
some  mysterious  experiences  that  seemed  to 
confirm  it.  She  should,  therefore,  look 
forward  to  the  issue  of  the  experiment  the 
following  evening  with  nearly  as  much  con 
fidence,  and  quite  as  much  interest,  as  Miss 
Ludington  herself.  Mrs.  Rhinehart  hoped  that 
the  following  evening  would  be  convenient 
for  Miss  Ludington.  She  had  assumed  the 
responsibility  of  making  the  engagement  posi 
tive,,,  as  she  might  have  failed  in  securing  a 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  Jl 

seance  altogether  had  she  waited  to  communi 
cate  with  Miss  Ludington.  Hoping  that  "  the 
conditions  would  be  favorable,"  she  remained, 
etc.,  etc. 

When  Miss  Ludington  had  read  this  letter 
to  Paul,  she  intimated,  though  rather  faintly, 
that  it  was  still  not  too  late  to  withdraw 
from  the  enterprise ;  they  could  send  Mrs. 
Legrand  her  fee,  say  that  it  was  not  con 
venient  for  them  to  come  on  the  evening 
fixed,  and  so  let  the  matter  drop.  Paul  stared 
at  her  in  astonishment,  and  said  that,  if  she 
did  not  feel  like  going,  he  would  go  alone,  as 
he  had  at  first  proposed.  Upon  this  Miss 
Ludington  once  more  declared  that  they 
would  go  together,  and  said  nothing  further 
about  sacrificing  the  appointment. 

The  fact  is  she  did  not  really  wish  to  sacri 
fice  it.  She  was  experiencing  a  revulsion  of 
feeling;  Mrs.  Rhtnehart's  letter  had  affected 
her  almost  as  strongly  as  Mrs.  Slater's  talk. 
The  fact  that  Mrs.  Legrand  had  at  once  seen 


72  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

the  reasonableness  and  probability  of  the  belief 
in  the  immortality  of  past  selves  made  it  diffi 
cult  for  Miss  Ludington  to  think  of  her  as  a 
mere  vulgar  impostor.  The  vague  hint  of 
the  medium's  as  to  strange  experiences  with 
the  spirit  world,  confirmatory  of  this  belief, 
appealed  to  her  imagination  in  a  powerful 
manner.  Of  what  description  might  the  mys 
terious  monitions  be,  which,  coming  to  this 
woman  in  the  dim  between-world  where  she 
groped,  had  prepared  her  to  accept  as  true,  on 
its  first  statement,  a  belief  that  to  others 
seemed  so  hard  to  credit?  What  clutchings 
of  spirit  fingers  in  the  dark !  What  meanings 
of  souls  whom  no  one  recognized ! 

The  confidence  which  Mrs.  Legrand  had 
expressed  that  the  seance  would  prove  a 
success  affected  Miss  Ludington  very  power 
fully.  It  impressed  her  as  the  judgment  of  an 
expert;  it  compelled  her  to  recognize  not  only 
as  possible,  but  even  as  probable,  that,  on  the 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  73 

evening  of  the  following  day,  she  should  be 
hold  the  beautiful  girl  whom  once,  so  many 
years  before,  she  had  called  herself;  for  so  at 
best  would  words  express  this  wonder. 

With  a  trembling  ecstasy,  which  in  vain  she 
tried  to  reason  down,  she  began  to  prepare 
herself  for  the  presence  of  one  fresh  from  the 
face  of  God  and  the  awful  precincts  of  eternity. 

As  for  Paul,  there  was  no  conflict  of  feeling 
with  prejudice  in  his  case;  he  gave  himself 
wholly  up  to  a  delirious  expectation.  How 
would  his  immortal  mistress  look?  How 
would  she  move?  What  would  be  her  stature, 
—  what  her  bearing?  How  would  she  gaze 
upon  him?  If  not  with  love  he  should  die 
at'  her  feet.  If  with  love  how  should  he 
bear  it? 

Mrs.  Rhinehart's  letter  had  been  received  in 
the  morning,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  day 
Miss  Ludington  and  Paul  seemed  quite  to  forget 
each  other  in  their  absorption  in  the  thoughts 
suggested  by  the  approaching  event.  They  sat 


74  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

abstracted  and  silent  at  table,  and,  on  rising, 
went  each  their  own  way.  In  the  exalted  state 
of  their  imaginations  the  enterprise  they  had 
in  hand  would  not  bear  talking  over. 

When  she  retired  to  bed  Miss  Ludington 
found  that  sleep  was  out  of  the  question. 
About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  she  heard 
Paul  leave  his  room  and  go  downstairs.  Put 
ting  on  dressing-gown  and  slippers  she  softly 
followed  him.  There  was  a  light  in  the  sit 
ting-room  and  the  door  was  ajar.  Stepping 
noiselessly  to  it  she  looked  in. 

Paul  was  standing  before  the  fireplace,  lean 
ing  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  looking  up  into 
the  eyes  of  the  girl  above,  smiling  and  talking 
softly  to  her.  Miss  Ludington  entered  the 
room  and  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his  arm. 
Her  appearance  did  not  seem  to  startle  him  in 
the  least.  "Paul,  my  dear  boy!"  she  said, 
"you  had  better  go  to  bed." 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said ;  "  I  can't  sleep,  and  I 
had  to  come  down  here  and  look  at  her. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  75 

Think,  just  think,  aunty,  that  to-morrow  we 
shall  see  her." 

The  young  fellow's  nervous  excitement  cul 
minated  in  a  burst  of  ecstatic  tears,  and  soon 
afterwards  Miss  Ludington  induced  him  to  go 
to  bed. 

How  much  more  he  loved  the  girl  than 
even  she  did  !  She  was  filled  with  dread  as  she 
thought  of  the  effect  which  a  disappointment 
of  the  hope  he  had  given  himself  up  to  might 
produce.  And  what  folly,  after  all,  it  was  to 
expect  anything  but  disappointment ! 

The  spectacle  of  Paul's  fatuous  confidence 
had  taken  hers  away. 


76  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  S  the  drive  over  to  East  Tenth  street  was 
•*-  ^-  a  long  one,  the  carriage  had  been  ordered 
at  seven  o'clock,  and  soon  after  tea,  of  which 
neither  Miss  Ludington  nor  Paul  had  been  able 
to  take  a  mouthful,  they  set  out. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  are  doing  something  very 
wrong  and  foolish,"  said  Miss  Ludington, 
feebly,  as  the  carriage  rolled  down  the  village 
street. 

During  the  drive  of  nearly  two  hours  not 
another  word  was  said. 

The  carriage  at  length  drew  up  before  the 
house  in  Tenth  street.  It  stood  in  a  brick  block, 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  the  business  pursued 
within,  except  a  small  white  card  on  the  door 
bearing  the  words,  "Mrs.  Legrand.  Mate 
rializing,  Business,  and  Test  Medium.  Clair 
voyant." 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  77 

An  old-looking  little  girl  of  ten  or  twelve 
years  of  age  opened  the  door.  The  child's 
big  black  eyes,  and  long  snaky  locks  falling 
about  a  pale  face,  gave  her  an  elfish  look  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  character  of  the  house. 
She  at  once  ushered  the  callers  into  the  front 
parlor,  where  a  lady  and  gentleman  were  sitting, 
who  proved  to  be  Mrs.  Legrand  and  her 
manager  and  man  of  business,  Dr.  Hull. 

The  latter  was  a  tall  person,  of  highly  re 
spectable  and  even  imposing  appearance,  to 
which  a  high  forehead,  a  pair  of  gold-bowed 
spectacles,  and  a  long  white  beard  considerably 
added.  He  looked  like  a  scholar,  and  his 
speech  was  that  of  a  man  of  education. 

Mrs.  Legrand  was  a  large  woman,  with 
black  hair  sprinkled  with  gray  and  worn  short 
like  a  man's.  She  had  a  swarthy  complexion, 
and  her  eyes  were  surrounded  by  noticeably 
large  dark  rings,  giving  an  appearance  of 
wretched  ill-health.  Her  manner  was  extreme 
ly  languid,  as  of  a  person  suffering  from 


78  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

nervous  exhaustion.  She  kept  her  eyes  half 
shut,  and  spoke  as  if  with  an  effort. 

"Did  Mrs.  Rhinehart  tell  you,"  she  said  to 
Miss  Ludington,  "of  the  interest  which  I  feel 
in  your  theory,  that  the  souls  of  our  past  selves 
exist  in  spirit-land?  If  my  seance  to-night 
realizes  your  expectations,  spirit  science  will 
have  taken  a  great  step  forward." 

"  My  conviction  will  remain  the  same  what 
ever  the  result  may  be  to-night,"  said  Miss  Lud 
ington. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  replied  Mrs. 
Legrand,  languidly ;  "  but  I  feel  that  we  shall 
be  successful,  and  my  intuitions  rarely  deceive 
me." 

A  trembling  came  over  Paul  at  these  words. 

There  was  a  little  more  general  conversation, 
and  the  silence  which  followed  was  interrupted 
by  Dr.  Hull. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  reason  why  the  seance 
should  not  proceed,  Mrs.  Legrand?" 

"  I   know  of  none,"  assented  that  lady  in  a 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  79 

lifeless  tone.  "Please  show  our  friends  the 
cabinet." 

Dr.  Hull  rose.  "It  is  usual,"  he  said,  "for 
those  who  attend  our  seances  to  be  asked  to 
satisfy  themselves  that  deception  is  impossible 
by  an  examination  of  the  apartment  which 
Mrs.  Legrand  occupies  during  her  trance,  and 
from  which  the  materialized  spirit  appears. 
Will  you  kindly  step  this  way?" 

The  room  in  which  they  sat  was  a  long  apart 
ment,  divided  by  double  sliding  doors  into  a 
front  and  back  parlor,  the  former  of  which  had 
been  the  scene  of  the  preceding  conversation. 

Dr.  Hull  now  conducted  the  two  visitors  into 
the  back  parlor,  which  proved  to  be  of  similar 
size  and  appearance  to  the  front  parlor,  except 
that  it  contained  no  furniture  whatever.  There 
was  only  one  window  in  the  back  parlor,  and 
this  was  firmly  closed  by  inside  blinds. 

It  was  also  uncurtained,  and  in  plain  view 
from  the  front  parlor.  Besides  the  connection 
with  the  front  parlor,  there  was  but  one  door  in 


8O  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

the  back  parlor.  This  opened  into  a  small 
apartment,  about  six  feet  by  five,  which  had 
been  taken  out  of  the  right-hand  rear  corner  of 
the  back  parlor,  and  was  separated  from  it  by  a 
partition  reaching  to  the  ceiling.  This  was 
the  cabinet.  It  had  neither  window  nor  door 
except  the  one  into  the  back  parlor.  A  sofa 
was  its  only  article  of  furniture,  and  this  was  of 
wicker-work,  so  that  nothing  could  be  concealed 
beneath  it. 

"  Mrs.  Legrand  lies  upon  this  sofa  while  in 
the  state  of  trance,  during  which  the  spirit 
is  materialized  and  appears  to  us,"  explained 
Dr.  Hull. 

A  rug  lay  on  the  floor  of  the  cabinet,  the 
walls  were  of  hard- finished  white  plaster,  quite 
bare,  and  the  ceiling,  like  that  of  the  parlors, 
was  plain  white  without  ornament. 

There  seemed  no  possibility  of  introducing 
any  person  into  the  cabinet  or  the  back  parlor 
without  the  knowlege  of  those  in  the  front 
parlor.  But  Dr.  Hull  insisted  upon  making 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  8l 

assurance  doubly  sure  by  pounding  upon  the 
walls  and  pulling  up  the  rug  in  the  cabinet,  to 
prove  that  no  sliding  panel  or  trap-door  trick 
was  possible.  There  was  something  calculated 
to  make  an  unbeliever  very  uneasy  in  the 
quiet  confidence  of  these  people,  and  the 
business-like  way  in  which  they  went  to 
work  to  make  it  impossible  to  account  for  any 
phenomenon  that  might  appear,  on  any  other 
but  a  supernatural  theory.  No  doubt  what 
ever  now  remained  in  the  mind  of  Miss  Lud- 
ington  or  Paul  that  the  wonderful  mystery 
which  they  had  hardly  dared  to  dream  of  was 
about  to  be  enacted  before  them.  They  fol 
lowed  Dr.  Hull  on  his  tour  of  inspection  as 
if  they  were  in  a  dream,  mechanically  ob 
serving  what  he  pointed  out,  but  replying 
at  random  to  his  remarks,  and,  indeed,  barely 
aware  of  what  they  were  doing.  The  sense 
of  the  unspeakably  awful  and  tender  scene  so 
soon  to  pass  before  their  eyes  absorbed  every 
susceptibility  of  their  minds. 


82  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


r 


Nor  indeed  would  this  detective  work  have 
had  any  interest  for  them  in  any  case.  They 
would  have  been  willing  to  concede  the 
medium  all  the  machinery  she  desired.  There 
was  no  danger  that  they  could  be  deceived 
as  to  the  reality  of  the  face  and  form  that  for 
so  many  years  had  been  enshrined  in  their 
memories. 

There  might  be  as  many  side  entrances  to 
the  cabinet  as  desired,  but  she  whom  they 
looked  for  could  come  only  from  the  spirit-land. 

The  front  parlor,  too,  having  been  inves 
tigated,  to  show  the  impossibility  of  any 
person's  being  concealed  there,  Dr.  Hull  pro 
ceeded  to  close  and  lock  the  hall-door,  that 
being  the  only  exit  connecting  this  suite  of 
rooms  with  the  rest  of  the  house.  Having 
placed  a  heavy  chair  against  the  locked  door, 
for  further  security,  he  gave  the  key  to  Paul. 

Mrs.  Legrand  now  rose,  and  without  a  word 
to  any  one  passed  through  the  back  parlor  and 
disappeared  in  the  cabinet. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  83 

As  she  did  so  a  wild  desire  to  fly  from  the 
room  and  the  house  came  over  Miss  Lud- 
ington.  Not  that  she  did  not  long  inexpressi 
bly  to  see  the  vision  that  was  drawing  near, 
whose  beautiful  feet  might  even  now  be  on 
the  threshold,  but  the  sense  of  its  awfulness 
overcame  her.  She  felt  that  she  was  not  fit, 
not  ready,  for  it  now.  If  she  could  only  have 
more  time  to  prepare  herself,  and  then  could 
come  again.  But  it  was  too  late  to  draw 
back. 

Dr.  Hull  had  arranged  three  chairs  across 
the  broad  door-way  between  the  back  and  front 
parlors,  and  facing  the  former.  He  asked  Miss 
Ludington  to  occupy  the  middle  chair,  and, 
trembling  in  every  limb,  she  did  so.  Paul  took 
the  chair  by  her  side,  the  other  being  appar 
ently  for  Dr.  Hull. 

The  elfish  little  girl,  whom  they  called  Alta, 
and  who  appeared  to  be  the  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Legrand,  meanwhile  took  her  place  at  a  piano 
standing  in  the  front  parlor. 


84  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

All  being  now  ready,  Dr.  Hull  proceeded  to 
turn  the  gas  in  the  two  parlors  very  low.  The 
jets  in  both  rooms  were  controlled  by  a  stop 
cock  in  the  wall  by  the  side  of  the  door-way 
between  them.  There  were  two  jets  in  the  back 
parlor,  fastened  to  the  wall  dividing  it  from  the 
front  parlor,  one  on  each  side  of  the  door,  so  as 
to  throw  light  on  any  figure  coming  out  of 
the  cabinet.  .  The  light  they  diffused,  after 
being  turned  down,  was  enough  to  render  forms 
and  faces  sufficiently  visible  for  the  recognition 
of  aquaintances,  though  a  close  study  of  feat 
ures  would  have  been  difficult. 

It  now  appeared  that  the  glass  shades  of 
the  jets  in  the  back  parlor  were  of  a  bluish 
tint,  which  lent  a  peculiarly  weird  effect  to  the 
illumination. 

Dr.  Hull  now  took  the  remaining  chair  by 
Miss  Ludington's  side,  and  a  perfect  silence  of 
some  moments  ensued,  during  which  she  could 
perfectly  hear  the  beating  of  Paul's  heart.  Then 
Alta  began,  with  a  wonderfully  soft  touch,  to 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  85 

play  a  succession  of  low,  dreamy  chords,  rather 
than  any  set  composition,  —  music  that  thrilled 
the  listeners  with  vague  suggestions  of  the  un 
fathomable  mystery  and  unutterable  sadness  of 
human  life.  She  played  on  and  on.  It  seemed 
to  two  of  the  hearers  that  she  played  for  hours, 
although  it  was  probably  but  a  few  minutes. 

At  last  the  music  flowed  slower,  trickled, 
fell  in  drops,  and  ceased. 

They  had  a  sensation  of  being  breathed 
upon  by  a  faint,  cool  draught  of  air,  and  then 
appeared  in  the  door-way  of  the  cabinet  the 
figure  of  a  beautiful  girl,  which,  after  standing 
still  a  moment,  glided  forth,  by  an  impercep 
tible  motion,  into  the  room. 

The  light,  which  had  before  seemed  so  faint, 
now  proved  sufficient  to  bring  out  every  line  of 
her  face  and  form.  Or  was  it  that  the  figure  it 
self  was  luminous  by  some  light  from  within? 

Paul  heard  Miss  Ludington  gasp ;  but  if  he 
had  known  that  she  was  dying  he  could  not 
have  taken  his  eyes  from  the  apparition. 


86  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

For  it  was  Ida  who  stood  before  him ;  no 
counterfeit  of  the  painter  now,  but  radiant  with 
life. 

Her  costume  was  exactly  that  of  her  picture, 
white,  with  a  low  bodice ;  but  how  utterly  had 
the  artist  failed  to  reproduce  the  ravishing 
contours  of  her  young  form,  the  enchanting 
sweetness  of  her  expression.  The  golden  hair 
fell  in  luxuriant  tresses  about  the  face  and  down 
the  dazzling  shoulders.  The  lips  were  parted 
in  a  pleased  smile  as,  with  a  gliding  motion3  she 
approached  the  rapt  watchers. 

Her  eyes  rested  on  Miss  Ludington  with  a 
look  full  of  recognition  and  a  tenderness  that 
seemed  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  eyes  to  ex 
press. 

Then  she  looked  at  Paul.  Her  smile  was 
no  longer  the  smile  of  an  angel,  but  of  a 
woman.  The  light  of  her  violet  eyes  burned 
like  delicious  flame  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 

She  was  so  near  him  that  he  could  have 
touched  her.  Her  beauty  overcame  his 


MISS  LVDINGTON'S  SISTER.  87 

senses.  Forgetting  all  else,  in  an  agony  of 
love,  he  was  about  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms, 
but  she  drew  back  with  a  gentle  gesture 
of  denial. 

Then  a  sudden  and  indescribable  wavering 
passed  over  her  face,  like  the  passing  of  the 
wind  over  a  field  of  rye,  and  slowly,  as  if  reluc 
tantly  obeying  an  unseen  attraction,  she  re 
treated,  still  facing  them,  across  the  room,  and 
disappeared  within  the  cabinet. 

Instantly  Alta  touched  the  piano,  playing 
the  same  slow,  heavy  chords  as  before.  But 
this  time  she  played  but  a  few  moments,  and 
when  she  ceased,  Mrs.  Legrand's  voice  was 
heard  faintly  calling  her.  She  glided  between 
the  chairs  in  the  door-way  and  entered  the 
cabinet,  drawing  a  portiere  across  its  door 
behind  her. 

As  she  did  so,  Dr.  Hull  touched  the  stop 
cock  in  the  wall  by  his  side,  turning  on  the  gas 
in  both  parlors,  and  proceeded  to  unlock  and 
open  the  hall-door. 


88  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

"  It  was  the  most  successful  seance  I  have 
ever  witnessed,"  he  said.  "The  conditions 
must  have  been  unusually  favorable.  How 
were  you  pleased,  Miss  Ludington?  " 

The  abrupt  transition  from  the  shadows  of 
the  between-world  to  the  glare  of  gas-light, 
from  the  communion  of  spirits  to  the  brisk 
business-like  tones  of  Dr.  Hull,  was  quite  too 
much  for  the  poor  lady,  and,  with  a  piteous 
gesture,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Alta  now  came  out  of  the  cabinet,  and  said 
that  her  mother  would  like  them  to  examine  it 
once  more. 

Miss  Ludington  took  no  notice  of  the 
request,  but  Paul,  who  had  continued  to  sit 
staring  into  vacancy,  as  if  for  him  the  seance 
were  still  going  on,  sprang  up  at  Alta's  invitation 
and  accepted  it  with  alacrity.  The  eagerness 
with  which  he  peered  into  the  corners  of  the 
cabinet,  and  the  disappointment  which  his  face 
showed  when  he  perceived  no  trace  of  any 
person  there  save  Mrs.  Legrand  and  Alta, 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  89 

might  naturally  have  suggested  to  them  that 
he  suspected  fraud;  but  the  fact  was  very 
different.  His  conduct  was  merely  the  result 
of  a  confused  hope  that  he  might  gain  another 
glimpse  of  Ida  by  following  her  to  the  place 
within  which  she  had  vanished. 

When  Paul  looked  into  the  cabinet,  Mrs. 
Legrand  was  lying  upon  the  lounge,  and  Alta 
was  administering  smelling-salts  to  her.  As  he 
turned  away  disappointed,  the  medium  rose 
and,  leaning  on  her  daughter,  returned  to  the 
front  parlor.  She  looked  completely  over 
come.  Her  face  was  deathly  pale,  and  the 
dark  rings  around  her  eyes  were  larger  and 
darker  than  ever.  She  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  which  had  a  special  rest  for  her  head,  and 
closed  her  eyes. 

As  neither  Dr.  Hull  nor  Alta  showed  any 
surprise  at  her  condition,  it  was  apparently  the 
ordinary  result  of  a  seance. 

To  her  faint  inquiry  whether  the  material 
ization  had  been  satisfactory  to  Miss  Lud- 


9O  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

ington,  the  latter  replied  that  it  had  been  all, 
and  more  than  all,  she  had  dared  dream  of.  Dr. 
Hull,  in  a  very  enthusiastic  manner,  went  on  to 
describe  the  manifestation  more  particularly. 
He  declared  that  the  present  evening  a  new 
world  of  spirit-life  had  been  revealed,  and 
a  new  era  in  spiritualism  had  opened. 

"  I  have  been  devoted  to  the  study  of  spirit 
ualism  for  thirty  years,"  he  exclaimed;  "but  I 
have  never  been  present  at  so  wonderful  a 
seanc£  as  this.  I  grow  dizzy  when  I  think  of 
the  field  of  speculation  which  it  opens  up.  The 
spirits  of  our  past  selves !  And  yet  why  not, 
why  not?  Like  all  great  discoveries  it  seems 
most  simple  when  once  brought  to  light.  It 
accounts,  no  doubt,  for  the  throng  of  unknown 
spirits  of  which  mediums  are  so  often  conscious, 
and  for  the  many  materializations  and  com 
munications  which  no  one  recognizes." 

Meanwhile  the  wretched  appearance  of  the 
medium  aroused  Miss  Ludington's  sympathies, 
in  spite  of  the  distracted  condition  of  her  mind. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  91 

"  Is  Mrs.  Legrand  always  prostrated  in  this 
manner  after  a  seance?"  she  asked. 

Dr.  Hull  answered  for  the  medium.  "  Not 
generally  quite  so  much  so,"  he  said  ;  "the  strain 
on  her  vitality  is  always  very  trying,  but  it  is 
especially  so  when  a  new  spirit  materializes,  as 
to-night.  Out  of  her  being,  somehow,  and  just 
how,  I  know  no  better  than  you,  is  woven  the 
veil  of  seeming  flesh,  yes,  and  even  the  clothing 
which  the  spirit  assumes  in  order  to  appear. 
The  fact  that  Mrs.  Legrand  suffers  from  heart 
disease  makes  seances  not  only  more  exhaust 
ing  for  her  than  for  other  mediums,  but  really 
dangerous.  I  have  told  her,  as  a  physician,  and 
other  physicians  have  told  her,  that  she  is  liable 
at  any  time  to  die  in  a  trance." 

Paul  now  spoke  for  the  first  time  since  the 
conclusion  of  the  seance.  "What  do  you  fancy 
would  be  the  effect  on  the  spirit  if  a  medium 
should  die  during  a  materialization,  as  you  have 
supposed?  "  he  inquired. 

"That    can    only    be    a    matter   of    theory," 


Q2  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

replied  Dr.  Hull ;  "  the  accident  has  never 
happened." 

"But  it  might  happen." 

"Yes,  it  might  happen." 

"  Is  not  the  spirit  as  much  dependent  on  the 
medium  for  dematerializing  and  resuming  the 
spirit-form,  as  for  materializing?"  asked  Paul. 

"I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Dr.  Hull.  "You 
think  that  in  case  the  medium  should  die  during 
a  materialization,  the  spirit  might  be  left  in  a 
materialized  state.  How  does  it  strike  you, 
Mrs.  Legrand?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  that  lady,  with  her 
eyes  closed.  "  Spirits  require  our  aid  as  much 
to  lay  aside  their  bodies  as  to  assume  them.  If 
the  medium  died  meantime,  I  should  think 
that  the  spirit  might  find  some  trouble  in  de- 
materializing." 

"  Is  it  not  possible,"  said  Paul,  "  that  it  might 
be  unable  to  dematerialize  at  all?  Would  not 
the  medium's  death  close  against  it  the  only 
door  by  which  it  could  return  to  the  spirit- 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SfSTER.  93 

world,  shutting  it  out  in  this  life  with  us 
henceforth?  More  than  that:  would  not  the 
already  materialized  spirit  be  in  a  position  to 
succeed  to  the  physical  life  which  the  medium 
relinquished?  Already  possessed  of  a  part  of 
the  medium's  vitality,  would  not  the  remainder 
naturally  flow  to  it  when  given  up  in  death,  and 
thus  complete  its  materialization?" 

"And  give  it  an  earthly  body  like  ours?" 
exclaimed  Miss  Ludington.  . 

"Yes,  like  ours,"  replied  Paul.  "I  sup 
pose  it  would  simply  take  up  its  former 
life  on  earth  where  it  had  been  left  off,  ceasing 
to  possess  a  spirit's  powers,  and  knowing  only 
what  and  whom  it  knew  at  the  point  when  its 
first  life  on  earth  had  ceased." 

"After  what  I  have  seen  to-night,  nothing 
will  ever  seem  impossible  to  me  again,"  said 
Miss  Ludington. 

"As  Miss  Ludington  suggests,"  observed 
Dr.  Hull,  "  in  spiritualism  one  soon  ceases  to 
consider  whether  a  thing  be  wonderful  or  not, 


94  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

but  only  if  it  be  true.  And  so  as  to  this  mat 
ter.  Now,  if  the  death  of  a  medium  should  be 
absolutely  instantaneous,  the  spirit  might,  in 
deed,  be  unable  to  dematerialize,  and  might 
even  succeed  to  the  medium's  earth  life,  as  you 
suggest.  The  trouble  with  the  theory  —  and  it 
seems  to  me  a  fatal  one  —  is,  that  death  is  almost 
never,  if  indeed  it  is  ever,  absolutely  instantane 
ous,  but  only  comparatively  so ;  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  least  possible  interval  of  time 
would  be  sufficient  to  enable  the  spirit  to  de- 
materialize.  Consequently,  it  strikes  me,  that 
while  the  result  you  suppose  is  theoretically 
possible,  it  could,  practically,  never  occur. 
Still,  the  subject  is  one  of  mere  conjecture  at 
most,  and  one  opinion  is,  perhaps,  as  good  as 
another." 

"I  think  you  are  probably  right,"  said  Paul; 
"  it  was  only  a  fancy  I  had." 

"  Why  does  Mrs.  Legrand  persist  in  giving 
seances  if  she  is  not  in  a  fit  condition?"  said 
Miss  Ludington. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  95 

"Well,"  replied  Dr.  Hull,  "you  see  we  spirit 
ualists  do  not  regard  death  as  so  serious  a 
matter  as  do  many  others.  Our  mediums, 
especially,  who  stand  with  one  hand  clasped 
by  spirits  and  the  other  by  mortals,  are  almost 
indifferent  which  way  they  are  drawn ;  besides, 
you  see,  she  is  recognized  as  the  most  fully 
developed  medium  in  the  United  States  to-day, 
and  many  spirits,  which  cannot  materialize 
through  other  mediums,  are  dependent  upon 
her ;  she  feels  that  she  has  a  duty  to  discharge 
toward  the  spirit-world,  at  whatever  risk  to 
herself.  I  doubt  if  to-night's  seance,  for  ex 
ample,  would  have  been  successful  with  any 
other  medium." 

Immediately  after  this  conversation  Miss 
Ludington  and  Paul  took  their  departure.  Dr. 
Hull  went  out  with  them  to  the  carriage,  and 
was  obliged  to  remind  them  of  the  little  matter 
of  Mrs.  Legrand's  fee,  which  they  had  entirely 
forgotten. 


96  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

NOW,  before  she  ever  had  neard  of  Mrs. 
Legrand,  Miss  Ludington  had  fully  be 
lieved  that  her  former  self  had  an  immortal 
existence,  apart  and  distinct  from  her  present 
self,  and  Paul,  to  whom  she  was  indebted  for 
this  belief,  held  it  even  more  firmly  than  she. 

But  there  is  a  great  difference  between  the 
strongest  form  of  faith  and  the  absolute  as 
surance  of  sight.  The  effect  of  the  vision  which 
they  had  witnessed  in  Mrs.  Legrand's  parlors 
was  almost  as  startling  as  if  they  had  not 
expected  to  see  it. 

Very  little  was  said  in  the  carriage  going 
home,  but,  as  they  were  crossing  the  ferry,  Miss 
Ludington  exclaimed,  in  an  awe-struck  voice, 
"  O  Paul !  was  it  not  strange  !  " 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  97 

"Strange?  Strange?"  he  echoed,  in  strong, 
exultant  tones.  "  How  oddly  you  use  the  word, 
aunty  !  You  might  well  say  how  strange,  if  we 
mortals  were  isolated  here  on  this  little  island 
of  time,  with  no  communication  with  the  main 
land  of  eternity ;  but  how  can  you  call  it  strange 
when  you  find  out  that  we  are  not  isolated? 
Surely  it  is  not  strange,  but  supremely  reason 
able,  right,  and  natural." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  so,"  said  Miss  Ludington, 
"  but  if  I  had  let  you  go  alone  to-night,  and 
stayed  at  home,  I  could  never  have  fully  be 
lieved  you  when  you  told  me  what  you  had 
seen  any  more  than  I  shall  ever  expect  any  one 
to  believe  me.  Think,  Paul,  if  I  had  not  gone, 
if  I  had  not  seen  her,  if  she  had  not  given  me 
that  look !  I  knew,  of  course,  if  she  appeared 
that  I  should  recognize  her,  but  I  did  not  dare 
to  be  sure  that  she  would  recognize  me.  I  re 
member  her,  but  she  never  saw  me  on  earth." 

"  It  was  as  a  spirit  that  she  knew  you,  and 
that  is  the  way  she  knew  me,  and  knew  that  I 


98  MISS  LUDING 'TON'S  SISTER. 

loved  her,"  said  Paul,  with  a  sudden  huskiness 
in  his  voice. 

"  Surely  that  makes  it  clear,"  said  Miss  Lud- 
ington,  "  that  the  spirits  of  our  past  selves  love 
us  who  follow  them,  as  we,  in  looking  back,  yearn 
after  them,  and  not  merely  await  us  at  the  end, 
but  are  permitted  to  watch  over  us  as  we  com 
plete  the  journey  which  they  began.  I  am  sure 
.  that  if  people  knew  this  they  would  never  feel 
lonely  or  forlorn  again." 

It  was  a  relief  to  Paul  when  they  reached 
home  and  he  could  be  alone. 

In  an  ecstasy  of  happiness  that  was  like  a 
delicious  pain,  he  sat  till  morning  in  his  un- 
lighted  chamber,  gazing  into  the  darkness  with 
a  set  smile,  motionless,  and  breathing  only  by 
deep,  infrequent  inhalations.  What  were  the 
joys  of  mortal  love  to  the  transports  that  were 
his?  What  were  the  smoky  fires  of  earthly 
passion  to  this  pure,  keen  flame,  almost  too 
strong  for  a  heart  of  flesh  to  bear? 

As  he  strove  to  realize  what  it  was  to  be  be- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  99 

loved  by  an  immortal,  the  veil  between  time 
and  eternity  was  melted  by  the  hot  breath  of 
his  passion,  and  the  confines  of  the  natural  and 
the  supernatural  were  confounded. 

As  the  east  grew  light  he  began  to  feel  the 
weariness  of  the  intense  mental  strain  which 
had  led  up  to,  and  culminated  in,  the  tran 
scendent  experience  of  the  previous  evening 
A  tranquil  happiness  succeeded  his  exalted 
mood,  and,  lying  down,  he  slept  soundly  till 
noon,  when  he  went  downstairs  to  find  Miss 
Ludington  anxiously  waiting  for  him  to 
reassure  her  that  her  recollection  of  the  last 
night  was  not  altogether  a  dream,  as  she  had 
half  convinced  herself  since  waking. 

Paul  had  to  go  into  Brooklyn  to  do  some 
business  for  Miss  Ludington  that  day,  but  the 
men  he  dealt  with  seemed  to  him  shadows. 

After  finishing  with  them  he  went  over  to 
New  York,  and  presently  found  himself  on 
East  Tenth  street.  He  had  not  intended  to  go 
there.  His  feet  had  borne  him  involuntarily 


IOO  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

to  the  spot.  He  could  not  resist  the  temp 
tation  of  drawing  near  to  the  place  where  she 
had  been  only  a  few  hours  before.  He  walked 
to  and  fro  before  Mrs.  Legrand's  house  for  an 
hour,  and  then  stood  a  long  time  on  the 
opposite  side,  looking  at  the  closed  windows  of 
the  front  parlor,  quite  unconscious  that  he  had 
become  an  object  of  curiosity  to  numerous 
persons  in  adjoining  houses,  and  of  marked 
suspicion  to  the  policeman  on  the  corner. 

Finally  he  crossed  the  street,  mounted  the 
steps,  and  rang  the  bell.  The  door  was  opened, 
after  a  considerable  interval,  by  Alta,  the  elfish 
little  girl.  Paul  asked  for  Mrs.  Legrand.  Alta 
said  that  her  mother  was  ill  to-day,  and  not 
able  to  see  any  one.  Paul  then  asked  for  Dr. 
Hull.  He  was  not  in. 

"  I  wanted  to  arrange  for  another  seance,"  he 
said. 

"  Will  you  write,  or  will  you  call  to-morrow?  " 
asked  Alta,  in  a  business-like  manner. 

Paul  said  he  would  call.     Then  he  hesitated. 


MISS  LUDING  TON'S* 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "  but  may  I  ask  you 
if  there  is  any  one  now  in  the  parlor  where  we 
were  last  night?  " 

"  No  one  is  there,"  replied  the  little  gin. 

"  Could  you  let  me  just  go  in  and  see  where 
she  was?"  asked  Paul,  humbly.  "I  would  not 
keep  you  a  moment." 

Alta,  in  her  character  of  door-keeper  to  this 
house  of  mystery,  was,  doubtless,  in  the  habit 
of  seeing  queer  people,  bent  on  queer  errands. 
She  merely  asked  him  to  step  within  the  hall, 
saying  that  she  would  speak  to  her  mother. 
Presently  she  returned  with  the  desired  per 
mission,  and,  producing  a  key,  unlocked  the 
parlor  door,  and  ushered  Paul  in. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  heavy 
curtains  and  blinds  left  the  rooms  almost  dark. 
There  was  barely  light  enough  to  see  that  all 
was  just  as  it  had  been  the  night  before.  The 
sounds  of  the  street  penetrated  the  closed  apart 
ments  but  faintly.  With  the  step  of  one  on 
holy  ground,  Paul  advanced  to  the  spot  where 


,  MIS;SLUtiING  TON'S  SISTER. 

he  had  been  seated  when  the  vision  appeared 
to  him  the  night  before. 

Aided  by  the  darkness,  the  silence,  and  by 
the  identity  of  the  surroundings,  the  memory  of 
that  vision  returned  to  him  as  he  stood  there 
with  a  vividness  which,  in  the  overwrought 
condition  of  his  nerves,  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  distinguish  from  reality.  Once  more  a 
radiant  figure  glided  noiselessly  from  the 
cabinet,  which  was  darkly  outlined  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  and  stood  before  him.  Once 
more  her  eyes  burned  on  his,  until,  forgetting 
all  but  her  beauty,  he  put  forth  his  arms  to 
clasp  her.  A  startled  exclamation  from  Alta 
banished  the  vision,  and  he  perceived  that  he 
was  smiling  upon  the  empty  air. 

He  went  away  from  the  house  ecstatically 
happy.  He  believed  that  he  had  really  seen 
her.  He  had  no  doubt  that,  aided  by  the 
mediumship  of  love,  she  had  actually  appeared 
to  him  a  second  time  in  a  form  only  a  little 
less  material  than  the  night  before. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  103 

Of  this  experience  he  did  not  tell  Miss  Lud- 
ington.  This  interview,  which  Ida  had  granted 
to  him  alone,  he  kept  as  a  precious  secret. 

The  next  day,  as  he  had  promised,  Paul 
called  at  Mrs.  Legrand's  and  saw  Dr.  Hull. 
That  gentleman  was  unable  to  promise  him 
anything  definite  about  a  seance,  on  account  of 
Mrs.  Legrand's  continued  illness. 

"Is  she  seriously  sick?"  asked  Paul,  with  a 
new  terror. 

"I  think  not,"  said  Dr.  Hull;  "but  her  trouble 
is  of  the  heart,  the  result  of  the  nervous  crises 
which  a  trance  medium  is  necessarily  subject  to, 
and  a  disease  of  the  heart  may  at  any  time 
take  an  unexpected  turn." 

"Has  she  the  best  advice?"  asked  Paul. 
"Excuse  me;  but  if  she  has  not,  and  if  her 
pecuniary  means  do  not  enable  her  to  afford 
it,  I  beg  you  will  let  me  secure  it  for  her." 

Dr.  Hull  thanked  him,  but  said  that  he  was 
a  physician  himself,  and  that,  on  account  of  his 
acquaintance  with  her  constitutional  peculiari- 


. 

104  MfSS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

ties,  Mrs.  Legrand  considered  him,  and  he  con 
sidered  himself,  better  able  to  treat  her  than 
any  strange  physician.  "  You  seem  to  be  very 
much  interested  in  her  case,"  added  the  doctor, 
with  a  slight  intonation  of  surprise. 

"Can  you  wonder?"  replied  Paul.  "Is  she 
not  door-keeper  between  this  world  and  the 
world  of  spirits  where  my  love  is?  Don't  think 
me  brutal  if  I  confess  to  you  that  what  I  think 
of  most  is  that  her  death  might  close  that  door." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  brutal,"  replied  Dr. 
Hull ;  "  what  you  feel  is  very  natural." 

"Is  it  not  strange, —  is  it  not  hard  to  bear," 
cried  Paul,  giving  way  to  his  feelings,  "  that  the 
key  of  the  .gate  between  the  world  of  spirits  and 
of  men  should  be  intrusted  to  a  weak  and 
sickly  woman?  " 

"It  is  hard  to  bear,  no  doubt,"  replied  Dr. 
Hull ;  "  but  it  is  not  strange.  It  is  in  accord 
ance  with  the  laws  by  which  this  world  has 
always  been  conducted.  From  the  beginning 
has  not  the  power  of  calling  spirits  out  of  the 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  105 

unknown  into  this  earth  life  been  intrusted  to 
weak  and  sickly  women?  What  the  world 
loosely  calls  spiritualism  is  no  isolated  phe- 

*E_.   - 

nomenon  or  set  of  phenomena.  The  universe 
is  spiritual.  Much  as  we  claim  for  our  me 
diums,  the  mediumship  of  motherhood  is  far 
more  marvellous.  Our  mediums  can  enable 
spirits  already  alive,  and  able  by  their  own 
wills  to  cooperate,  to  pass  before  our  eyes 
for  a  moment.  To  hold  them  longer  in  our 
view  exceeds  their  power.  But  these  other 
women,  these  mothers,  call  souls  out  of  nothing 
ness,  and  clothe  them  with  bodies,  so  that  they 
speak,  walk,  work,  love,  and  hate,  some  forty, 
some  fifty,  some  seventy  years." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Paul,  bowing  his  head- 
"  It  is  not  strange,  though  it  is  hard  to  bear." 

The  effect  of  the  seance  at  Mrs.  Legrand's 
upon  Miss  Ludington  had  been  far  less  disturb 
ing  than  upon  Paul.  To  her  it  had  been  a  lofty 
spiritual  consolation,  setting  the  seal  of  absolute 
assurance  upon  a  faith  that  had  been  before  too 


IO6  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

great,  too  strange,  too  beautiful  for  her  to 
fully  realize. 

When  Paul  brought  word  that  Mrs.  Legrand 
was  sick  and  might  die,  and  that  if  she  died 
that  first  vision  of  Ida  might  also  prove  the 
last  to  be  vouchsafed  them  on  earth,  although 
she  was  deeply  grieved,  yet  the  thought  did 
not  seem  so  intolerable  to  her  as  to  him. 
She  had,  indeed,  hoped  that  from  time  to 
time  she  should  see  Ida  again;  still  her  life 
was  mostly  past,  and  it  was  chiefly  upon  the 
communion  they  would  enjoy  in  heaven,  not 
momentary  and  imperfect  as  here,  but  peren 
nial  and  complete,  that  her  heart  was  set. 

Very  different  was  it  with  Paul.  He  was 
young ;  heaven  was  very  far  off,  and  the  way 
thither,  unless  cheered  by  occasional  visitations 
of  his  radiant  mistress,  seemed  inexpressibly 
long  and  dreary.  The  nature  of  his  sentiment 
for  Ida  had  changed  since  he  had  seen  her 
clothed  in  a  living  form,  from  the  worship  of 
a  sweet  but  dim  ideal  to  the  passion  which  a 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  IO/ 

living  woman  inspires.  He  thought  of  her  no 
more  as  a  spirit,  lofty  and  serene,  but  as  a 
beautiful  maiden  with  the  love-light  in  her 
eyes. 

He  was  not  able  to  find  his  former  inspira 
tion  in  the  picture  above  the  fireplace.  Its 
still  enchantment  was  gone.  The  set  smile, 
that  had  ever  before  seemed  so  sweet,  palled 
upon  him.  The  eyes,  that  had  always  been  so 
tender,  now  lacked  expression.  The  lips  that 
the  boy  had  climbed  up  to  kiss,  how  had  the 
artist  failed  to  intimate  their  exquisite  curves  ! 
The  whole  picture  had  suffered  a  subtle  de 
terioration,  and  looked  hard,  wooden,  lifeless, 
and  almost  unlike.  The  living  woman  had 
eclipsed  the  portrait.  Fortunate  it  is  for  the 
fame  of  painters  that  their  originals  do  not 
oftener  return  to  earth. 

If  Mrs.  Legrand  had  been  his  o\vn  mother 
Paul  could  not  have  been  more  assiduous  in 
his  calls  and  inquiries  as  to  her  condition,  nor 
could  his  relief  have  been  greater  when,  a  few 


108  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

days  later,  Dr.  Hull  told  him  that  the  case  had 
taken  a  favorable  turn,  and,  according  to  her 
previous  experience  with  such  attacks,  she 
would  probably  be  as  well  as  usual  by  the 
following  day.  Dr.  Hull  said  that  she  had 
heard  of  Paul's  frequent  inquiries  for  her,  and 
while  she  did  not  flatter  herself  that  his  interest 
in  her  was  wholly  on  her  own  account,  she  was, 
nevertheless,  so  far  grateful  that  she  would  give 
him  the  first  seance  which  she  was  able  to 
hold,  and  that  would  be,  if  she  continued  to 
improve,  on  the  following  evening. 


MISS  LUD  ING  TON'S  SISTER.  109 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

TF  Miss  Ludington's  desire  for  another 
•*•  glimpse  of  Ida  had  lacked  the  passionate 
intensity  of  Paul's,  she  had,  notwithstanding, 
longed  for  it  very  ardently,  and  when  at  nine 
o'clock  the  next  night  the  carriage  drew  up 
before  Mrs.  Legrand's  door,  she  was  in  a 
transport  of  sweet  anticipation. 

As  for  Paul  he  had  dressed  himself  with 
extreme  care  for  the  occasion,  and  looked  to 
his  best  advantage.  He  had  said  to  himself, 
w  Shall  I  not  show  her  as  much  observance  as  I 
would  pay  to  a  living  woman?"  And  who  can 
say  —  for  very  odd,  sometimes,  are  the  inarticu 
late  processes  of  the  mind — that  there  was  not 
at  the  bottom  of  his  thoughts  something  of  the 
universal  lover's  willingness  to  let  his  mistress 
see  him  at  his  best? 


HO  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

They  found  the  front  parlor  occupied  as 
before  by  Mrs.  Legrand  and  Dr.  Hull,  when 
Alta  showed  them  in.  The  medium  was,  as 
previously,  the  picture  of  ill-health,  and  if  she  did 
not  look  noticeably  worse  than  before  her  sick 
ness,  it  was  merely  because  she  had  looked  as 
badly  as  possible  then.  In  response  to  inqui 
ries  about  her  health  she  admitted  that  she  did 
not  really  feel  equal  to  resuming  her  seances 
quite  so  soon,  and  but  for  disliking  to  disap 
point  them  would  have  postponed  this  evening's 
appointment.  Dr.  Hull  had,  indeed,  urged  her 
to  do  so. 

"  You  must  not  think  of  giving  a  seance  if 
there  is  any  risk  of  injury  to  your  health," 
said  Miss  Ludington,  though  not  without  being 
sensible  of  a  pang  of  disappointment.  "  We 
could  not  think  of  letting  you  do  that,  could 
we,  Paul?" 

Paul's  reply  to  this  humane  suggestion  was 
not  so  prompt  as  it  should  have  been.  In 
his  heart  he  felt  at  that  moment  that  he  was  as 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  Ill 

bad  as  a  murderer.  He  knew  that  he  was  will 
ing  this  woman  should  risk  not  only  her  health, 
but  even  her  life,  rather  than  that  he  should 
fail  to  see  Ida.  He  was  striving  to  repress  this 
feeling,  so  far  at  least  as  to  say  that  he  would 
not  insist  upon  going  on  with  the  seance,  when 
Mrs.  Legrand,  with  a  glance  through  her 
half-shut  eyelids,  intimating  that  she  perfectly 
understood  his  thoughts,  said,  in  a  tone  which 
put  an  end  to  the  discussion,  "  Excuse  me,  but 
I  shall  certainly  give  the  seance.  I  am  much 
obliged  for  your  interest  in  me;  but  I  am 
rather  notional  about  keeping  my  promises,  and 
it  is  a  peculiarity  in  which  my  friends  have  to 
indulge  me.  I  daresay  I  shall  be  none  the 
worse  for  the  exertion." 

"Doctor,"  she  added,  "will  you  allow  our 
friends  to  inspect  the  cabinet?  " 

"That  is  quite  needless,"  said  Paul. 

"  Our  friends  are  often  willing  to  waive  an  in 
spection,"  replied  Dr.  Hull.  "We  are  grateful 
for  the  confidence  shown,  but,  in  justice  to 


112  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

ourselves,  as  well  as  for  their  own  more  absolute 
assurance,  we  always  insist  upon  it.  Otherwise, 
suspicions  of  fraud  not  entertained,  perhaps,  at 
the  time,  might  afterwards  occur  to  the  mind,  or 
be  suggested  by  others,  to  which  they  would 
have  no  conclusive  answer." 

Upon  this  Miss  Ludington  and  Paul  permitted 
themselves  to  be  conducted  upon  the  same  tour 
of  inspection  that  they  had  made  the  former 
evening.  They  found  everything  precisely  as  it 
had  been  on  that  occasion.  There  was  no  pos 
sibility  of  concealing  any  person  in  the  cabinet 
or  the  back  parlor,  and  no  apparent  or  conceiv 
able  means  by  which  any  person  could  reach 
those  apartments,  except  through  the  front 
parlor. 

On  their  return  to  the  latter  apartment  the 
proceedings  followed  the  order  observed  at  the 
previous  seance.  Mrs.  Legrand  rose  from  her 
chair  and  walked  feebly  through  the  back 
parlor  into  the  cabinet.  Dr.  Hull  then  locked 
and  braced  a  chair  a"gainst  the  door  opening 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  113 

into  the  hall,  giving  the  key  to  Paul.  Then, 
having  arranged  the  three  chairs  as  before, 
across  the  double  door  between  the  parlors,  he 
seated  Miss  Ludington  and  Paul,  and,  having 
turned  the  gas  down,  took  the  third  chair. 

All  being  ready,  Alta,  who  was  at  the 
piano,  struck  the  opening  chords  of  the  same 
soft,  low  music  that  she  had  played  at  the 
previous  seance. 

It  seemed  to  Miss  Ludington  that  she  played 
much  longer  than  before,  and  she  began  to 
think  that  either  there  was  to  be  some  failure 
in  the  seance,  or  that  something  had  happened 
to  Mrs.  Legrand. 

Perhaps  she  was  dead.  This  horrible 
thought,  added  to  the  strain  of  expectancy, 
affected  her  nerves  so  that  in  another  moment 
she  must  have  screamed  out,  when,  as  before 
she  felt  a  faint,  cool  air  fan  her  forehead,  and  a 
few  seconds  later  Ida  appeared  at  the  door  of 
the  cabinet  and  glided  into  the  room. 

She  was  dressed    as  at  her   former   appear- 


114  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

ance,  in  white,  with  her  shoulders  bare,  and  the 
wealth  of  her  golden  hair  falling  to  her  waist 
behind. 

From  the  moment  that  she  emerged  from  the 
shadows  of  the  cabinet  Paul's  eyes  were  glued 
to  her  face  with  an  intensity  quite  beyond  any 
ordinary  terms  of  description. 

Fancy  having  not  over  a  minute  in  which  to 
photograph  upon  the  mind  a  form  the  rec 
ollection  of  which  is  to  furnish  the  con 
solation  of  a  lifetime.  The  difficulties  of 
securing  this  second  seance,  and  the  doubt  that 
involved  the  obtaining  of  another,  had  deeply 
impressed  him.  He  might  never  again  see  Ida 
on  earth,  and  upon  the  fidelity  with  which  his 
memory  retained  every  feature  of  her  face, 
every  line  of  her  figure,  his  thoughts  by  day, 
and  his  dreams  by  night,  might  have  to  depend 
for  their  texture  until  he  should  meet  her  in 
another  world. 

The  lingering  looks  that  are  the  lover's 
luxury  were  not  for  these  fleeting  seconds. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  115 

His  gaze  burned  upon  her  face  and  played 
around  her  form  like  lightning.  He  grudged 
the  instantaneous  muscles  of  the  eye  the  time 
they  took  to  make  the  circuit  of  her  figure. 

But  when,  as  on  that  other  night,  she  came 
close   up   to  him   and    smiled   upon  him,  time 
and  circumstance  were  instantly  forgotten,  and  , 
he  fell  into  a    state   of  enchantment  in  which  J 
will  and  thought  were  inert. 

He  was  aroused  from  it  by  an  extraordinary 
change  that  came  over  her.  She  started  and 
shivered  slightly  in  every  limb.  The  recog 
nition  faded  out  of  her  eyes  and  gave  place  to 
a  blank  bewilderment. 

Then  came  a  turning  of  her  head  from  side 
to  side,  while,  with  dilated  eyes,  she  explored 
the  dim  recesses  of  the  room  with  the  startled 
expression  of  an  awakened  sleep-walker.  She 
half  turned  toward  the  cabinet  and  made  an 
undecided  movement  in  that  direction,  and 
then,  as  if  the  invisible  cord  that  drew  her 
thither  had  broken,  she  wavered,  stopped,  and 


Il6  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

seemed  to  drift  toward  the  opposite  corner  of 
the  room. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  gasp  from  the 
cabinet. 

Dr.  Hull  leaped  to  his  feet  and  sprang 
toward  it,  at  the  same  time,  by  a  turn  of  the 
stopcock  by  his  side,  setting  the  gas  in  both 
rooms  at  full  blaze. 

Alta,  with  a  loud  scream,  rushed  after  him, 
and  Miss  Ludington  and  Paul  followed  them. 

The  pupils  of  their  eyes  had  been  dilated  to 
the  utmost  in  order  to  follow  the  movements 
of  the  apparition  in  the  nearly  complete  dark 
ness,  and  the  first  effect  of  the  sudden  blaze 
of  gaslight  was  to  dazzle  them  so  completely 
that  they  had  actually  to  grope  their  way  to 
the  cabinet. 

The  scene  in  the  little  apartment  of  the 
medium  was  a  heart-rending  one. 

Mrs.  Legrand's  body  and  lower  limbs  lay  on 
the  sofa,  which  was  the  only  article  of  furniture, 
and  Dr.  Hull  was  in  the  act  of  lifting  her  head 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  117 

from  the  floor  to  which  it  had  fallen.  Her 
eyes  were  half  open,  and  the  black  rings 
around  them  showed  with  ghastly  plainness 
against  the  awful  pallor  which  the  rest  of  her 
face  had  taken  on.  One  hand  was  clenched. 
The  other  was  clutching  her  bodice,  as  if  in  the 
act  of  tearing  it  open.  A  little  foam  flecked 
the  blue  lips. 

Alta  threw  herself  upon  her  mother's  body, 
sobbing,  "  O  mamma,  wake  up  !  do  !  do  !  " 

"Is  she  dead?"  asked  Miss  Ludington,  in 
horrified  accents. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  fear  so.  I  warned  her ;  I 
told  her  it  would  come.  But  she  would  do 
it,"  cried  the  doctor  incoherently,  as  he  tried 
to  feel  her  pulse  with  one  hand  while  he 
tore  at  the  fastenings  of  her  dress  with  the 
other.  He  set  Paul  at  work  chafing  the  hands 
of  the  unsconscious  woman,  while  Miss  Lud 
ington  sprinkled  her  face  and  chest  with  ice- 
water  from  a  small  pitcher  that  stood  in  a 
corner  of  the  cabinet,  and  the  doctor  himself 


Il8  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

endeavored  in  vain  to  force  some  of  the  contents 
of  a  vial  through  her  clenched  teeth.  "  It  is  of 
no  use,"  he  said,  finally;  "she  is  past  help, — 
she  is  dead!" 

At  this  Miss  Ludington  and  Paul  stood  aside, 
and  Alta,  throwing  herself  upon  her  mother's 
form,  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears.  "  She  was 
all  I  had,"  she  sobbed. 

"Had  Mrs.  Legrand  friends?"  asked  Miss 
Ludington,  conscience-stricken  with  the  thought 
that  she  had  indirectly  been  in  part  responsible 
for  this  terrible  event. 

"  She  had  friends,  who  will  look  after  Alta," 
said  Dr.  Hull. 

Their  assistance  being  no  longer  needed,  Miss 
Ludington  and  Paul  turned  from  the  sad  scene 
and  stepped  forth  from  the  cabinet  into  the 
back  parlor. 

The  tragedy  which  they  had  just  witnessed 
had  to  a  great  extent  driven  from  their  thoughts 
the  events  of  the  seance  which  it  had  broken  off 
so  abruptly.  The  impression  left  on  their 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  1 19 

minds  was  that  the  spirit-form  of  Ida  had 
vanished  in*  the  blinding  flood  of  gas-light 
through  which  they  had  groped  their  way  to 
the  cabinet  on  hearing  the  death-rattle  of  the 
medium. 

But  now,  in  the  remotest  corner  of  the  room, 
toward  which  they  had  last  seen  the  form  of 
the  spirit  drifting,  there  stood  a  young  girl. 
She  was  bending  forward,  shielding  her  eyes 
with  her  right  hand  from  the  flaring  gas,  as 
she  peered  curiously  about  the  room,  her  whole 
attitude  expressive  of  complete  bewilderment. 

It  was  Ida;  but  what  a  change  had  passed 
upon  her !  This  was  no  pale  spirit,  counter 
feiting  for  a  few  brief  moments,  with  the  aid  of 
darkness,  the  semblance  of  mortal  flesh,  but  an 
unmistakable  daughter  of  earth.  Her  bosom 
was  palpitating  with  agitation,  and,  instead 
of  the  lofty  serenity  of  a  spirit,  her  eyeb 
expressed  the  trouble  of  a  perplexed  girl  who 
is  fast  becoming  frightened. 

As  Paul  and  Miss  Ludington  stepped  forth 


I2O  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

from  the  cabinet  she  fixed  upon  them  a  pair 
of  questioning  eyes.  There  was  not  a  particle 
of  recognition  in  their  expression.  Presently 
she  spoke.  Her  voice  was  a  mezzo-soprano, 
low  and  sweet,  but  just  now  sharpened  by  an 
accent  of  apprehension. 

"  Where  am    I  ?  "  she  asked. 

After  a  moment,  during  which  their  brains 
reeled  with  an  amazement  so  utter  that  they 
doubted  the  evidence  of  their  senses,  —  doubted 
even  their  own  existence  and  identities,  there 
had  simultaneously  flashed  over  the  minds 
of  Paul  and  Miss  Ludington  the  explanation  of 
what  they  beheld. 

The  prodigy,  the  theoretical  possibility  of 
which  they  had  discussed  after  the  seance  of 
the  week  before,  and  scarcely  thought  of  since, 
had  come  to  pass.  Dr.  Hull  had  proved 
wrong,  and  Paul  had  proved  right.  A  medium 
had  died  during  a  materialization,  and  the 
materialized  spirit  had  succeeded  to  her  vitality, 
and  was  alive  as  one  of  them. 


MISS  LUDING TON'S  SISTER.  121 

It  was  no  longer  the  spirit  of  Ida,  knowing 
them  by  a  spirit's  intuition,  which  was  before 
them,  but  the  girl  Ida  Ludington,  whose  curious, 
unrecognizing  glance  testified  to  her  ignorance 
of  aught  which  the  Hilton  school-girl  of  forty 
years  ago  had  not  known. 

It  was  with  an  inexpressible  throb  of  exul 
tation,  after  the  stupor  of  their  first  momentary 
astonishment,  that  they  comprehended  the 
miracle  by  which  in  the  moment  when  the  hope 
of  ever  beholding  Ida  again  had  seemed  taken 
from  them,  had  restored  her  not  only  to  their 
eyes,  but  to  life.  But  how  should  they  accost 
her,  how  make  themselves  known  to  her, 
how  go  about  even  to  answer  the  question 
she  had  asked  without  terrifying  her  with  new 
and  deeper  mysteries? 

While  they  stood  dumb,  with  hearts  yearn 
ing  toward  her,  but  powerless  to  think  of  words 
with  which  to  address  her,  Dr.  Hull,  hearing 
the  sound  of  her  voice,  stepped  out  from  the 
cabinet.  At  the  sight  of  Ida  he  started  back 


122  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

astounded,  and  Paul  heard  him  exclaim  under 
his  breath,  "I  never  thought  of  this !  " 

Then  he  laid  his  hand  on  Paul's  arm  and  said, 
in  an  agitated  whisper,  "  You  were  right.  It 
has  happened  as  you  said.  My  God,  what  can 
we  say  to  her?  " 

Meanwhile  Ida  was  evidently  becoming 
much  alarmed  at  the  strange  looks  bent  upon 
her.  "Perhaps,  sir,"  she  said,  addressing  Dr. 
Hull,  with  an  appealing  accent,  "you  will  tell 
me  how  I  came  in  this  place?  " 

Then  ensued  an  extraordinary  scene  of  expla 
nation,  in  which,  seconding  one  another's  efforts, 
striving  to  hit  upon  simpler  analogies,  plainer 
terms,  Paul,  the  doctor,  and  Miss  Ludington 
sought  to  make  clear  to  this  waif  from  eternity, 
so  strangely  stranded  on  the  shores  of  Time,  the 
conditions  and  circumstances  under  which  she 
had  resumed  an  earthly  existence. 

For  a  while  she  only  grew  more  terrified  at 
their  explanations,  appearing  to  find  them 
totally  unintelligible,  and,  though  her  fears 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  12$ 

were  gradually  dissipated  by  the  tenderness  of 
their  demeanor,  her  bewilderment  seemed  to 
increase.  For  a  long  time  she  continued  to 
turn  her  face,  with  a  pathetic  expression  of 
mental  endeavor,  from  one  to  another,  as  they 
addressed  her,  only  to  shake  her  head  slowly 
and  sadly  at  last. 

"  I  seem  to  have  lost  myself,"  she  said,  press 
ing  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  "  I  do  not  un 
derstand  anything  you  say." 

"  It  is  a  hard  matter  to  understand,"  replied 
Dr.  Hull.  "Understanding  will  come  later. 
Meanwhile  look  in  at  the  door  of  this  room 
and  you  will  see  the  body  of  the  woman  to 
whose  life  you  have  succeeded.  Then  you  will 
believe  us  though  you  do  not  understand  us." 

As  he  spoke  he  indicated  the  door  of  the 
cabinet. 

Ida  stepped  thither  and  looked  in,  recoiling 
with  a  sharp  cry  of  horror.  The  terror  in  her 
face  was  piteous,  and  in  a  moment  Miss  Lud- 
ington  was  at  her  side,  supporting  and  soothing 


124  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

her.  Sobbing  and  trembling  Ida  submitted  un 
resistingly  to  her  ministrations,  and  even  rested 
her  head  on  Miss  Ludington's  shoulder. 

The  golden  hair  brushed  the  gray  locks ;  the 
full  bosom  heaved  against  the  shrunken  breast 
of  age ;  the  wrinkled,  scarred,  and  sallow  face  of 
the  old  woman  touched  the  rounded  cheek  of 
the  girl. 

Fully  as  Paul  believed  that  he  had  realized 
the  essential  and  eternal  distinction  between  the 
successive  perso'ns  who  constitute  an  indi 
viduality,  he  grew  dizzy  with  the  sheer  wonder 
of  the  spectacle  as  he  saw  age  thus  consoling 
youth,  and  reflected  upon  the  relation  of  these 
two  persons  to  each  other. 

Presently  Ida  raised  her  head  and  said,  "  It 
may  be  as  you  say.  My  mind  is  all  confused. 
I  cannot  think  now.  Perhaps  I  shall  understand 
it  better  after  a  while." 

"  If  you  will  come  home  with  me  now,"  said 
Miss  Ludington,  "before  you  sleep  I  will  con- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  125 

vince  you  what  we  are  to  each  other.  Will  you 
come  with  me?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  exclaimed  the  girl.  "  Let  us 
go.  Let  us  leave  this  awful  place ;  "  and  she 
glanced  with  a  shudder  at  the  door  of  the 
cabinet. 

A  few  moments  later  the  house  of  death  had 
been  left  behind,  and  Miss  Ludington's  carriage, 
with  its  three  passengers,  was  rolling  home 
wards. 

Before  leaving,  Miss  Ludington  had  told  Dr. 
Hull  that  he  might  command  her  so  far  as  any 
pecuniary  assistance  should  be  needed  either  with 
reference  to  the  funeral  or  in  connection  with 
providing  for  Alta.  She  said  that  it  would  be  a 
relief  to  her  to  be  allowed  to  do  anything  she 
could.  Dr.  Hull  thanked  her  and  said  that,  as 
Mrs.  Legrand  had  friends  in  the  city,  it  would 
probably  be  unnecessary  to  trouble  her.  If  for 
no  other  purpose,  however,  he  said  that  he 
should  possibly  communicate  with  her  hereafter 
with  a  view  to  informing  himself  as  to  the  future 


126  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

of  the  young  lady  who  had  that  night  assumed 
the  earth-life  which  his  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Le- 
grand,  had  laid  aside. 

It  was  an  incident  of  this  extraordinary 
situation  that  Miss  Ludington  found  herself  at 
disadvantage  even  in  expressing  the  formal 
condolence  she  proffered.  With  Ida  before 
her  eyes  it  was  impossible  that  she  should 
honestly  profess  to  deplore  the  event,  however 
tragical,  which  had  brought  her  back  to  earth. 
As  for  Paul  he  said  nothing  at  all. 

The  rattling  of  the  wheels  on  the  stony 
pavement  was  enough  of  itself  to  make  con 
versation  difficult  in  the  carriage,  even  if  it 
would  otherwise  have  flowed  easily  in  a  com 
pany  so  strangely  assorted.  As  the  light  of 
the  street  lamps  from  time  to  time  flashed  in  at 
the  windows  Paul  saw  that  Ida's  face  continued 
to  wear  the  look  of  helpless  daze  which  it  had 
assumed  from  the  moment  that  the  sight  of 
the  dead  woman  in  the  cabinet  had  convinced 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  127 

her  that  she  could  not  trust  her  own  knowledge 
as  to  her  relations  to  those  about  her. 

But  when  at  last  the  carriage  rolled  through 
the  gates  of  Miss  Ludington's  estate,  and  the 
houses  of  the  mimic  village  began  to  glance 
by,  her  manner  instantly  changed.  With  an 
exclamation  of  joyful  surprise,  she  put  her 
head  out  at  the  window,  and  then  looking 
back  at  them,  cried,  delightedly,  "Why,  it's 
Hilton  !  You  have  brought  me  home  !  There's 
our  house  !  "  No  sooner  had  she  alighted  than 
she  ran  up  the  walk  to  the  door,  and  tried  to 
open  it.  Paul,  hurrying  after,  unlocked  it,  and 
she  burst  in,  while  he  and  Miss  Ludington  fol 
lowed  her,  wondering. 

The  servants  had  gone  to  bed,  leaving  the 
lower  part  of  the  house  dimly  lighted.  Ida 
hurried  on  ahead  from  room  to  room  with  the 
confident  step  of  one  whose  feet  knew  every 
turning.  It  was  evident  that  she  needed  no 
one  to  introduce  her  there. 

When  Miss  Ludington  and  Paul  followed  her 


128  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

into  the  sitting-room,  she  was  standing  before 
her  own  picture  in  an  attitude  of  utter  astonish 
ment. 

"Where  did  they  get  that  picture  of  me?" 
she  demanded.  "  I  never  had  a  picture 
painted." 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  no  reply. 
Those  she  addressed  were  engrossed  in  com 
paring  the  portrait  with  its  original.  The 
resemblance  was  striking  enough,  but  it  was 
no  wonder  that  after  once  seeing  the  living 
Ida,  Paul  had  found  the  canvas  stiff  and  hard 
and  lifeless. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Ludington,  "  you  never  had 
a  picture  painted.  It  was  not  till  many  years 
after  you  had  left  the  world  that  this  picture 
was  painted.  It  was  enlarged  from  this  por 
trait  of  you.  Do  you  remember  it?"  and, 
taking  the  locket  containing  the  ivory  portrait 
of  Ida  from  her  neck  where  she  had  worn  it  so 
many  years,  she  opened  and  gave  it  to  the  girl. 

"  Why,  it  is  my  ivory  portrait ! "  exclaimed 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  129 

Ida.  "How  did  you  come  by  it?  What  do 
you  mean  about  my  leaving  the  world?  Some 
thing  strange  has  happened  to  me,  I  know, 
but  did  I  die?  I  don't  remember  dying.  Oh, 
can't  somebody  explain  what  has  happened 
to  me?" 

The  dazed  look  which  had  disappeared  from 
her  face  since  her  recognition  of  the  village 
and  the  homestead  had  come  back,  and  her 
last  words  were  a  bitter  cry  that  went  to  the 
hearts  of  the  listeners. 

Now,  all  the  time  they  had  been  in  the  car- 
.riage,  Paul  had  been  trying  to  think  of  some 
mode  of  setting  her  relationship  to  Miss  Lud- 
ington  in  a  light  so  clear  that  she  must  compre 
hend  it,  for  it  was  evident  that  the  confused  ex 
planations  at  Mrs.  Legrand's  had  availed  little, 
if  anything,  to  that  end.  Unless  this  could  be 
done  she  seemed  likely  to  remain  indefinitely  in 
this  dazed  mental  state,  which  must  be  so 
exquisitely  painful  to  her,  and  was  scarcely 
less  so  to  them. 


130  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

"  If  you  will  listen  to  me  patiently,"  he  said, 
"  I  will  try  to  explain.  You  know  that  some 
strange  thing  has  happened  to  you,  and  you 
must  expect  to  find  the  explanation  as  strange 
as  the  thing  itself;  but  it  is  not  hard  to  under 
stand." 

Ida's  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  with  the  ex 
pression  of  one  listening  for  her  life. 

"  Do  you  remember  being  a  little  girl  of  nine 
or  ten  years  old?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  answered.  "I  remember  that 
perfectly  well." 

"  You  are  now  a  young  woman,"  he  went 
on.  "Where  is  that  little  girl  whom  you 
remember?  What  has  become  of  her?" 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Ida.  "  I  sup 
pose  she  is  somewhere  in  me." 

"  But  you  don't  look  like  a  little  girl,  or  think 
or  act  or  feel  like  one.  How  can  she  be  in 
you?  " 

"Where  else  could  she  be?  "  replied  Ida. 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  lack  of  room  for  her,"    said 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  131 

Paul;  "the  universe  is  big  enough  for  all  the 
souls  that  ever  lived  in  it.  Suppose,  now,  you 
believed  her  to  be  still  alive  as  a  spirit,  just  as 
she  was,  still  alive  somewhere  in  the  land  of 
spirits,  not  transformed  into  the  young  lady 
that  you  are  at  all,  you  understand,  for  that 
would  only  be  another  way  of  saying  that  she 
was  dead,  but  just  as  she  was,  a  child,  with  a 
child's  loves,  a  child's  thoughts,  a  child's  feel 
ings,  and  a  child's  face,  —  can  you  suppose  such 
a  thing,  just  as  an  effort  of  imagination?  " 
"Oh,  yes!"  said  Ida;  "  I  can  suppose  that." 
"Well,  then,"  said  Paul,  "suppose  also  that 
you  remembered  this  little  girl  very  tenderly, 
and  longed  to  look  on  her  face  again,  although 
knowing  that  she  was  a  spirit  now.  Sup 
pose  that  you  went  to  a  woman  having  a 
mysterious  power  to  call  up  the  spirits  of  the 
departed,  and  suppose  that  she  called  up  the 
spirit  of  this  child  self  of  yours,  and  that  you 
recognized  it,  and  suppose  that  just  at  that 
moment  the  woman  died,  and  her  earthly  life 


132  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

was  transferred  to  the  spirit  of  the  child,  so  that 
instead  of  being  a  spirit,  she  became  again  a 
living  child,  but  unable  to  recognize  you  who 
loved  her  so  well,  because  when  she  lived  on 
earth,  you,  of  course,  had  not  yet  come  into 
existence.  Suppose  you  brought  this  child 
home  with  you  "  — 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  interrupted  Ida,  with 
dilating  eyes.  "Am  I"  - 

"  You  are  to  that  woman,"  broke  in  Paul,  in 
dicating  Miss  Ludington,  "what  the  child 
would  have  been  to  you.  You  are  bound  to 
her  by  the  same  tie  by  which  that  little  girl 
would  have  been  bound  to  you.  She  remem 
bers  and  loves  you  as  you  would  remember  and 
love  that  child  ;  but  you  do  not  know  her  any 
more  than  that  child  would  know  you.  You 
both  share  the  name  of  Ida  Ludington,  accord 
ing  to  the  usage  of  men  as  to  names;  but  I 
think  there  is  no  danger  of  your  being  con 
founded  with  each  other,  either  in  your  own 
eyes  or  those  of  lookers-on." 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER  133 

Ida  had  at  last  comprehended.  The  piercing 
look,  expressive  of  mingled  attraction  and  re 
pulsion,  which  she  fixed  upon  Miss  Ludington, 
left  no  doubt  of  that.  It  implied  alarm,  mistrust, 
and  something  that  was  almost  defiance,  yet 
with  hints  of  a  possible  tenderness. 

It  was  such  a  look  as  a  daughter,  stolen  from 
her  cradle  and  grown  to  maidenhood  among 
strangers,  might  fix  upon  the  woman  claiming 
to  be  her  mother,  except  that  not  only  was 
Miss  Ludington  a  stranger  to  Ida,  but  the 
relation  which  she  claimed  to  sustain  to  her 
was  one  that  had  never  before  been  realized 
between  living  persons  on  earth,  however  it 
might  be  in  heaven. 

"  Do  you  understand?  "  said  Paul. 

"I  —  think  —  I  —  do.  But  how  —  strange 
—  it  is !  "  she  replied,  in  lingering  tones,  her 
gaze  continuing  to  rest,  as  if  fascinated,  upon 
Miss  Ludington. 

The  latter's  face  expressed  a  great  elation,  an 
impassioned  tenderness  held  in  check  through 
fear  of  terrifying  its  object. 


134  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  it  seems  strange,"  she  said, 
very  softly.  "  You  have  yet  no  evidence  as  to 
who  I  am.  I  remember  you,  —  oh,  how  well !  — 
but  you  cannot  remember  me,  nor  is  there  any 
instinct  answering  to  memory  by  which  you 
can  recognize  me.  You  have  a  right  to  require 
that  I  should  prove  that  I  am  what  I  claim  to 
be ;  that  I  am  also  Ida  Ludington ;  that  I  am 
your  later  self.  Do  not  fear,,  my  darling.  I 
shall  be  able  to  convince  you  very  soon." 

She  made  Ida  sit  down,  and  then  went  to  an 
ancient  secretary,  that  stood  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  and  unlocked  a  drawer,  the  key  to  which 
she  always  carried  on  her  person. 

Paul  remembered  from  the  time  he  was  a 
little  boy  seeing  her  open  this  drawer  on 
Sunday  afternoons  and  cry  over  the  keepsakes 
which  it  contained. 

She  took  out  now  a  bundle  of  letters,  a  piece 
of  ribbon,  a  locket,  a  bunch  of  faded  flowers, 
and  a  few  other  trifles,  and  brought  them  to 
Ida. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  135 

Paul  left  the  room  on  tiptoe.  This  was  a 
scene  where  a  third  person,  one  might  almost 
say  a  second  person,  would  be  an  interloper. 

When,  a  long  time  after,  he  returned,  Miss 
Ludington  was  sitting  in  the  chair  where  Ida 
had  been  sitting,  smiling  and  crying,  and  the 
girl,  with  eyes  that  shone  like  stars,  was  bend 
ing  over  her,  and  kissing  the  tears  away. 

The  night  was  now  almost  spent,  and  the 
early  dawn  of  midsummer,  peering  through  the 
windows,  and  already  dimming  the  lights, 
warned  them  that  the  day  would  soon  be  at 
hand. 

"You  shall  have  your  own  bedroom,"  said 
Miss  Ludington.  The  face  of  the  old  lady 
was  flushed,  and  her  high-pitched  and  tremu 
lous  voice  betrayed  an  exhilaration  like  that 
of  intoxication.  "You  will  excuse  me  for 
having  cluttered  it  up  with  my  things;  to 
morrow  I  will  take  them  away.  You  see  I 
had  not  dared  hope  you  would  come  back 
to  me.  I  had  expected  to  go  to  you." 


136  MISS  LUDINGTON1  S  SISTER. 

"I  and  you  —  you  and  I."  The  girl  repeated 
the  words  after  her,  slowly,  as  if  trying  to 
grasp  their  full  meaning  as  she  uttered  them. 
Then  a  sudden  terror  leaped  into  her  eyes,  and 
she  cried,  shudderingly :  "Oh,  how  strange 
it  is  !  " 

"You  do  not  doubt  it?  You  do  not  doubt 
it  still?"  exclaimed  Miss  Ludington,  in  an 
guished  tones. 

"No,  no!"  said  the  girl,  recovering  herself 
with  an  evident  effort.  "  I  cannot  doubt  it.  I 
do  not,"  and  she  threw  her  arms  about  Miss 
Ludington's  neck  in  an  embrace  in  which, 
nevertheless,  a  subtle  shrinking  still  mingled 
with  the  impulse  of  tenderness  which  had 
overcome  it. 

When  presently  Miss  Ludington  and  Ida 
went  upstairs  together,  the  latter,  with  eager, 
unhesitating  step,  led  the  way  through  a  com 
plexity  of  roundabout  passages,  and  past 
many  other  doors,  to  that  of  the  chamber 
which  had  been  the  common  possession  of 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


137 


the  girl  and  the  woman.  Miss  Ludington  fol 
lowed  her,  wondering,  yet  not  wondering. 

"  It  seems  so  strange  to  see  you  so  familiar 
with  this  house,"  she  said,  with  a  little  hys 
terical  laugh,  "  and  yet,  of  course,  I  know  it 
is  not  strange." 

"No,"  replied  the  girl,  looking  at  her  with 
a  certain  astonishment,  "  I  should  think  not. 
It  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  I  were  not  fa 
miliar  here.  The  only  strange  thing  is  to 
feel  that  I  am  not  at  home  here,  that  I  am 
a  guest  in  this  house." 

"You  are  not  a  guest,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Ludington,  hurriedly,  for  she  saw  the  dazed 
look  coming  again  into  the  girl's  eyes.  "  You 
shall  be  mistress  here.  Paul  and  I  ask  nothing 
better  than  to  be  your  servants." 

To  pass  from  the  waking  to  the  dreaming 
state  is  in  general  to  exchange  a  prosaic  and 
matter-of-fact  world  for  one  of  fantastic  im 
probabilities ;  but  it  is  safe  to  assume  that 
the  three  persons  who  fell  asleep  beneath 


138  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Miss  Ludington's  roof  that  morning,  just  as 
the  birds  began  to  twitter,  encountered  in 
dreamland  no  experiences  so  strange  as 
those  which  they  had  passed  through  with 
their  eyes  open  the  previous  evening. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISl^ER.  139 


CHAPTER  IX. 

r  I  ^HE  day  following,  Paul  was  downstairs 
•*•  before  either  Ida  or  Miss  Ludington. 
He  was  sitting  on  the  piazza,  which  was  con 
nected  with  the  sitting-room  by  low  windows 
opening  like  doors,  when  he  heard  a  scream, 
and  Ellen,  the  housemaid,  who  had  been 
busy  in  the  sitting-room,  ran  out  upon  the 
piazza  with  a  face  like  a  sheet. 

"What's   the    matter?"    he    demanded. 

"  Sure  I  saw  a  ghost !  "  gasped  Ellen.  "  I 
was  on  a  chair  dusting  the  picture,  as  I  al 
ways  does  mornings,  an'  I  looked  up,  an* 
there  in  the  door  stood  the  very  same  girl 
that's  in  the  picture,  kind  of  smiling  like. 
And  so  I  give  a  yell  an'  run." 

As  she  spoke  Ida  stepped  out  upon  the 
piazza,  and  precipitately  sheltering  herself  be- 


140  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

hind  Paul,  Ellen  whispered,  "  Sure  there  she 
is  now !  " 

On  seeing  that  instead  of  sharing  her  terror 
he  cordially  greeted  the  ghost,  the  girl's 
face  showed  such  comical  bewilderment  that 
Ida  smiled  and  Paul  laughed  outright. 

"This  is  not  a  ghost,  Ellen.  This  lady  is 
Miss  Ida  Ludington,  a  relative  of  Miss  Luding- 
ton's,  who  came  to  live  here  last  night." 

"  I  hope  ye'll  not  mind  me  takin'  ye  for  a 
ghost,  miss,"  said  Ellen,  confusedly;  "but 
sure  ye  are  the  livin'  image  of  the  picture, 
and  me  not  knowin'  anybody  was  in  the  house 
more  than  the  family ;  "  and  she  disappeared 
to  tell  her  story  in  the  kitchen. 

Ida's  appearance  was  noticeably  calmer 
than  the  night  before.  There  was,  indeed, 
no  indication  of  excitement  in  her  manner. 
Paul  inquired  how  she  had  slept. 

"  I  should  think  you  might  have  had  strange 
dreams,"  he  said. 

"I  did  not  dream  at  all.     I  slept  soundly," 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  141 

she  replied.  "  But  this  morning  when  I  woke 
up  and  recognized  the  familiar  features  of 
the  room  I  have  always  slept  in,  —  the  same 
books,  the  same  pictures,  the  furniture  just 
as  ever,  —  I  had  to  sit  down  a  long  time  to 
collect  my  thoughts  and  remember  what  had 
happened.  I  could  remember  it  well  enough, 
but  to  realize  it  was  very  hard.  And  then, 
when  I  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
and  saw  the  meeting-house  and  the  school- 
house  and  the  neighbors'  houses,  just  where 
I  have  seen  them  from  that  window  all  my 
life  since  I  was  a  baby,  I  had  to  sit  down 
and  think  it  all  over  again  before  I  could 
believe  that  I  was  not  in  Hilton,  and  last 
night  all  a  dream." 

She  spoke  in  a  low,  even  tone,  which  was 
so  evidently  the  result  of  an  effort  at  self- 
control,  that  it  impressed  Paul  more  than  any 
display  of  mental  perturbation  would  have  done. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Ludington  appeared 
on  the  piazza  with  a  white,  excited  face, 


142  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

which,  however,  as  soon  as  she  saw  Ida,  be 
came  all  smiles. 

She  had  scarcely  slept  at  all.  The  thought 
had  kept  her  awake  that  Ida  might  vanish 
as  mysteriously  as  she  had  come,  and  be 
gone  at  morning.  From  sheer  weariness, 
however,  she  had  at  last  fallen  into  a  doze. 
On  awaking  she  had  gone  to  call  Ida,  and 
finding  her  chamber  empty,  had  hurried  down 
stairs  full  of  apprehension. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Miss  Luding- 
ton,  to  whom  Ellen's  mistake,  if  mistake  it 
could  be  called,  had  been  related,  took  Ida 
upstairs  and  made  her  exchange  her  white 
dress  of  the  fashion  of  half  a  century  before 
for  one  of  her  own,  in  order  that  her  appear 
ance  might  excite  less  remark  among  the 
servants  pending  the  obtaining  of  a  suitable 
wardrobe  from  the  city. 

There  was  another  consideration  which  made 
the  change  of  costume  not  only  desirable,  but 
necessary. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  143 

Ida's  dress,  which  had  not  seemed  the  night 
before,  to  casual  examination,  to  differ  from 
other  cloth,  had  begun  to  crurmble  away  in 
a  very  curious  manner.  The  texture  seemed 
strangely  brittle  and  strengthless.  It  fell  apart 
at  a  touch,  and  was  reduced  to  a  fine  powder 
under  the  pressure  of  the  fingers.  She  could 
not  possibly  have  worn  it  even  one  day. 

The  dress  of  Miss  Ludington's  for  which 
she  exchanged  it,  had  been  made  for  that  lady 
when  considerably  stouter  than  at  present,  but 
was  with  difficulty  enlarged  sufficiently  for  the 
full  figure  of  the  girl.  Like  all  but  the  latest 
of  Miss  Ludington's  dresses,  it  was  of  deepest 
black,  and,  strikingly  beautiful  as  Ida  had  been 
in  white,  the  funereal  hue  set  off  the  delicacy 
of  her  complexion,  the  pure  expression  of  her 
face,  and  the  golden  lustre  of  her  hair,  like 
fresh  revelations. 

Paul  was  left  pretty  much  to  himself  during 
the  day.  A  large  part  of  it  was  spent  by 
the  ladies  in  an  upstairs  chamber,  which  Miss 


144  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Ludington  had  devoted  to  a  collection  of  me 
mentos  of  the  successive  periods  of  her  life 
from  infancy. 

"  Come,"  she  had  said  to  Ida.  "  I  want  to 
introduce  you  to  the  rest  of  the  family.  I 
want  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the  other 
Miss  Ludingtons  who  have  borne  the  name 
between  your  time  and  mine." 

Having  been  an  only  child,  Miss  Luding- 
ton's  garments,  toys,  school  books,  and  other 
belongings  had  not  been  handed  down  to 
younger  brothers  and  sisters,  and  eventually 
to  destruction.  It  had  been  an  easy  matter  to 
preserve  them,  and,  consequently,  the  collection 
was  large  and  curious,  including  samples  of 
the  wardrobe  appertaining  to  every  epoch, 
from  the  swaddling-clothes  of  the  infant  to  a 
black  gown  of  the  last  year. 

After  the  period  of  youth,  however,  which 
Ida  represented,  the  number  and  interest  of 
the  mementos  rapidly  decreased,  and  for  many 
years  had  consisted  of  nothing  more  than  a 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  145 

few  dresses  and  a  collection  of  photographs, 
one  or  two  for  each  year,  arranged  in  order. 
They  numbered  not  less  than  fifty  in  all  and 
covered  thirty-seven  years,  from  a  daguerreotype 
of  Miss  Ludington  at  the  age  of  twenty-five 
to  a  photograph  taken  the  last  month.  Be 
tween  these  two  pictures  there  was  not  enough 
resemblance  to  suggest  to  a  casual  observer 
that  they  were  pictures  of  the  same  individual. 

To  trace  the  gradual  process  of  change  from 
year  to  year,  during  the  intervening  period,  was 
an  employment  which  never  lost  its  pensive 
fascination  for  Miss  Ludington.  For  each  of 
these  faces,  with  their  so  various  expressions, 
represented  a  person  possessing  a  peculiar 
identity  and  certain  incommunicable  qualities, 
—  a  person  a  little  different  from  any  one  of 
those  who  came  before  or  after  her,  and  from 
any  other  person  who  ever  lived  on  earth. 

As  now  the  gray  head  and  the  golden  head 
bent  together  over  one  picture  after  another, 
Miss  Ludington  related  all  she  could  remember 


146  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

of  the  history  and  personal  peculiarities  of  the 
.original. 

"There  is,  really,  not  much  to  say  about 
them,"  she  said.  "  They  lived  very  quiet,  un 
eventful  lives,  and  to  anybody  but  us  would, 
doubtless,  seem  entirely  uninteresting  persons. 
All  wore  black  dresses,  and  had  sad  faces, 
and  all  found  in  their  thoughts  of  you  the 
source  at  once  of  their  only  consolation  and 
their  keenest  sorrow.  For  they  fully  believed, 
—  think  of  it! — fully  and  unquestioningly  be 
lieved  that  you  were  dead;  more  hopelessly 
dead  than  if  you  were  in  your  grave,  dead,  with 
no  possibility  of  resurrection." 

"  This  is  the  one,"  she  said,  presently,  as  she 
took  up  the  picture  of  a  woman  of  thirty-five, 
"who  had  the  fortune  left  to  her,  which  has 
come  down  to  me.  I  want  you  to  like  her. 
Next  to  you  I  think  more  of  her  than  I  do 
of  any  of  the  rest.  It  was  she  who  cut  loose 
from  the  old  life  at  Hilton  which  had  become 
so  sour  and  sad,  and  built  this  new  Hilton  here, 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  147 

where  life  has  been  so  much  calmer,  and  on 
the  whole,  happier,  than  it  had  got  to  be  at 
home.  It  was  she  who  had  the  portrait  of 
you  painted  which  is  downstairs." 

Ida  took  up  a  picture  of  the  Miss  Ludington 
of  twenty-six  or  seven. 

"  Tell  me  something  about  her,"  she  said. 
"  What  kind  of  a  person  was  she  ?  " 

The  elder  woman's  manner,  when  she  saw 
what  picture  it  was  that  Ida  had  taken  up, 
betrayed  a  marked  embarrassment,  and  at  first 
she  made  no  reply. 

Noticing  her  confusion  and  hesitation,  Ida 
said,  softly,  "  Don't  tell  me  if  it  is  anything 
you  don't  like  to  speak  of.  I  do  not  care  to 
know  it." 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  Miss  Ludington, 
with  determination.  "You  have  as  good  a 
right  to  know  as  I  have.  She  cannot  blame  me 
for  telling  you.  She  knows  your  secrets  as  I 
do,  and  you  have  a  right  to  know  hers.  She 
had  a  little  escapade.  You  must  not  be  too 


148  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

hard  on  her.  It  was  the  outcome  of  the  des 
perate  dulness  and  life-weariness  that  came 
over  her  with  the  knowledge  that  youth  and  its 
joys  were  past,  leaving  nothing  in  their  place. 
The  calm  and  resignation  to  a  lonely  existence, 
empty  of  all  that  human  hearts  desire,  which 
came  in  after  years,  she  could  not  yet  com 
mand.  Oh,  if  you  could  imagine,  as  I  remem 
ber,  the  bitterness  of  that  period,  you  would  not 
be  too  hard  upon  her  for  anything  she  might 
have  done !  But,  really,  it  was  nothing  very 
bad.  People  would  not  call  it  so,  even  if  it  had 
ever  become  known."  And  then,  with  blushing 
cheeks  and  shamed  eyes,  Miss  Ludington 
poured  into  Ida's  ears  a  story  that  would  have 
disappointed  any  one  expectant  of  a  highly 
sensational  disclosure,  but  which  stood  out  in 
her  memory  as  the  one  indiscretion  of  an 
otherwise  blameless  life.  That  she  imparted  it 
to  Ida  was  the  most  striking  evidence  she 
could  have  given  of  the  absolute  community  of 
interests  which  she  recognized  as  existing  be- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  149 

tween  them.  She  was  greatly  comforted  when 
Ida,  instead  of  appearing  shocked,  declared  that 
she  sympathized  with  the  culprit  more  than  she 
blamed  her,  and  that  her  misconduct  was  venial. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Ludington,  "every 
one,  in  looking  back  upon  their  past  selves, 
sees  some  whom  they  condemn,  and,  perhaps, 
despise,  and  others  whom  they  admire  and 
sympathize  with.  And  I  confess  I  sympathize 
with  this  poor  girl.  Those  I  don't  like  are 
some  whom  I  remember  to  have  lacked  soft 
ness  of  heart,  to  have  been  sour  and  ungen 
erous;  these,  for  instance/'  indicating  certain 
pictures.  "But  it  is  hardly  fair,"  she  added, 
laughing,  "for  us  two  to  get  together  and 
abuse  the  rest  of  the  family,  who,  no  doubt,  if 
they  were  present,  would  have  something  to 
say  for  themselves,  and  some  criticisms  to 
offer  on  us;  that  is,  on  me.  None  of  them 
would  criticise  you.  You  were  the  darling  and 
the  pride  of  us  all." 

"  If  I  do  say  it,"  Miss  Ludington  presently 


150     N         MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

resumed,  "we  have  been  a  very  respectable  lot 
on  the  whole.  The  Ida  Ludingtons  have  been 
good  babies,  good  children,  good  girls,  good 
women,  and,  I  hope,  will  prove  to  have  been 
respectable  old  women.  In  the  spirit  land, 
when  we  all  meet  together,  there  will  be  no  black 
sheep  among  us,  nor  even  anybody  that  we 
shall  need  to  send  to  Coventry.  But  I  do  not 
see  why  special  affinities  should  not  assert 
themselves  there  as  here,  and  cliques  form 
among  us.  You  will  belong  to  them  all,  of 
course ;  but  next  to  you  I  know  that  I  shall 
be  fondest  of  that  poor  girl  I  told  you  about,  of 
her  and  of  the  Ida  Ludington  who  built  this 
new  Hilton  thirty  years  ago." 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  as  they  finished 
looking  over  the  pictures  and  talking  about 
them,  "  I  have  introduced  you  to  all  who 
have  borne  our  name  from  your  day  to  mine. 
As  to  those  who  came  before  you,  the  baby 
Ida  and  the  child  Ida,  you  remember  them 
even  better  than  I  do,  no  doubt.  I  would  give 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  151 

anything  if  I  had  their  pictures,  but  the  blessed 
art  of  photography  was  not  then  invented. 
These  keepsakes  are  all  I  have  of  them."  And 
taking  Ida  over  to  another  part  of  the  room, 
she  showed  her  a  cradle,  several  battered  dolls, 
fragments  of  a  child's  pewter  tea-set,  and  a 
miscellaneous  collection  of  toys. 

They  took  up  and  handled  tenderly  pairs  of 
little  shoes,  socks  nearly  as  long  as  one's 
fingers,  and  baby  dresses  scarcely  bigger  than 
a  man's  mittens.  Lying  near  were  the  shoes, 
and  gowns,  and  hoods,  now  grown  a  little  larger, 
of  the  child,  with  the  coral  necklace,  and  first 
precious  ornaments,  the  dog's-eared  spelling- 
books,  and  the  rewards  of  merit,  testifying  of 
early  school-days. 

"  I  can  barely  remember  the  baby  and  this 
little  girl,"  said  Miss  Ludington,  "  but  I  fancy 
they  will  be  the  pets  of  all  the  rest  of  us  up 
there,  don't  you?" 

After  Miss  Ludington  had  showed  Ida  all  the 
contents  of  the  room,  and  they  were  about  to 


152  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

leave  it,  she  said  to  the  girl,  "And  now  what 
do  you  think  of  us  other  Ida  Ludingtons,  who 
have  followed  you,  present  company  not  ex- 
cepted?  Confess  that  you  think  the  ac 
quaintances  I  have  introduced  to  you  were 
scarcely  worth  the  making.  You  need  not 
hesitate  to  say  so ;  it  is  quite  my  own  opinion. 
We  have  amounted  to  very  little,  taken  alto 
gether." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Ida,  quietly;  "  I  do  not  think 
that ;  I  would  not  say  that ;  but  your  lives  have 
all*  been  so  different  from  what  I  have  always 
dreamed  my  life  as  a  woman  would  be." 

"You  have  a  right  to  be  disappointed  in  us," 
said  Miss  Ludington.  "We  have,  indeed,  not 
turned  out  as  you  expected  —  as  you  had  a 
right  to  expect."  But  Ida  would  not  admit  in 
any  derogatory  sense  that  she  was  disappointed. 

"You  are  sweeter,  and  kinder,  and  gentler, 
than  I  supposed  I  ever  could  be,"  she  said; 
"but  you  see,  I  thought,  of  course,  I  should  be 
married,  and  have  children,  and  that  all  would 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  153 

be  so  different  from  what  it  has  been ;  but  not 
that  I  should  ever  be  better  than  you  are,  or 
nearly  so  sweet.  Oh,  no  !  " 

"Thank  you,  my  darling!  "  said  the  old  lady, 
kissing  Ida's  hand,  as  if  she  were  a  queen  who 
had  conferred  an  order  of  merit  upon  her.  "  I 
think  that  to  have  to  confess  to  their  youth 
ful  selves  their  failures  to  fulfil  their  expecta 
tions  must  be  the  hardest  part  of  the  Day  of 
Judgment  for  old  folks  who  have  wasted  their 
lives.  All  will  not  find  so  gentle  a  judge  as 
mine." 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  happy  tears. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon  they  took 
a  walk  in  the  village,  and  Ida  pressed  her 
companion  with  a  multitude  of  inquiries  about 
the  members  of  the  families  which  had  occu 
pied  the  houses,  forty  and  fifty  years  before, 
and  what  had  since  become  of  them ;  to  reply 
to  which  taxed  Miss  Ludington's  memory  not 
a  little. 

As  they  came  to  the  school-house  Ida  ran  on 


154  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

ahead,  and  when  her  companion  entered,  was 
already  seated  in  Miss  Ludington's  old  seat. 
Nothing  perhaps  could  have  brought  home  to 
the  latter  more  strongly  the  nature  of  her 
relationship  to  Ida  than  to  stand  beside  her  as 
she  sat  in  that  seat. 

As  they  fell  to  talking  of  the  scholars  who 
had  sat  here  and  there,  Miss  Ludington  began 
gently  to  banter  Ida  about  this  and  that  boyish 
sweetheart,  and  divers  episodes  connected  with 
such  topics. 

"This  is  unfair,"  said  the  girl,  smiling.  "  It 
is  a  very  one-sided  arrangement  that  you 
should  remember  all  my  secrets  while  I  know 
none  of  yours.  It  is  as  if  you  had  stolen  my 
private  journal." 

A  subtle  coyness,  an  air  of  constraint, 
and  of  shy,  curious  observance,  which  had 
marked  Ida's  manner  toward  Miss  Ludington 
in  the  early  part  of  the  day,  had  noticeably 
given  way  under  the  influence  of  the  latter's 
blithe  affectionateness,  and  it  was  with  arms 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  155 

about  each  other's  waists  that  the  two  sauntered 
back  to  the  house,  in  the  twilight. 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  call  you,"  said  Ida. 
"  For  me  to  call  you  Ida,  as  you  call  me,  would 
be  confusing,  and,  besides,  you  are  so  much 
older  than  I  it  would  seem  hardly  fitting." 

Miss  Ludington  laughed  softly. 

"  On  the  score  of  respect,  my  darling,  you 
need  not  hesitate,"  she  said,  "  for  it  is  you  who 
are  the  elder  Miss  Ludington,  and  I  the 
younger,  in  spite  of  my  white  hair.  You  are 
forty  years  older  than  I.  It  is  I  who  owe  you 
the  respect  due  to  years.  You  are  right, 
however ;  it  would  be  confusing  for  us  to  call 
each  other  by  the  same  name,  and  still  there 
is  no  word  in  human  language  that  truly 
describes  our  relationship." 

"  It  seems  to  me  it  is  more  like  that  of  sisters 
than  any  other,"  suggested  Ida,  with  a  certain 
timidity. 

Miss  Ludington  reflected  a  moment,  and 
then  exclaimed,  delightedly :  — 


156  MISS  L  UDING  TON 'S  SISTER. 

"  Yes,  we  will  call  each  other  sister,  for  our 
relation  is  certainly  a  kind  of  sisterhood.  We 
are,  like  sisters,  not  connected  directly,  but  in 
directly,  through  our  relation  to  our  common 
individuality,  as  if  we  were  fruit  borne  by 
the  same  tree  in  different  seasons.  To  be 
sure,"  she  added,  regarding  her  blooming 
companion  with  a  smile  of  tender  admira 
tion,  "  we  can  scarcely  be  said  to  look  as 
much  alike  as  sisters  commonly  do,  but  that 
is  because  there  is  not  often  a  difference  of 
more  than  forty  years  in  the  ages  of  sisters." 

And  so  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  call 
each  other  sister. 

Although  it  was  but  one  day  that  these  two 
had  been  known  to  each  other,  yet  so  naturally 
had  Ida  seemed  drawn  toward  Miss  Ludington, 
and  so  spontaneous  had  been  the  outflow  of  the 
latter's  long-stored  tenderness  toward  the  girl, 
that  they  were  already  like  persons  who  have 
been  bosom  friends  and  confidants  for  years. 

In  this  wonderfully  rapid  growth  of  a  close 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  157 

and  tender  intimacy,  Miss  Ludington  exult- 
ingly  recognized  the  heart's  testimony  to  the 
reality  of  the  mystic  tie  between  them. 

So  fit  and  natural  had  the  presence  of  Ida 
under  her  roof  already  come  to  seem,  that  she 
found  herself  half- forgetting,  at  times,  the 
astounding  and  tragic  circumstances  to  which 
it  was  due. 

Absorbed  in  the  wonder  and  happiness  of 
her  own  experience,  Miss  Ludington  had 
barely  given  a  thought  to  Paul  during  the  day. 
Having  been  constantly  with  Ida  she  had 
not,  indeed,  seen  him,  save  at  table,  and  had 
failed  to  take  note  of  his  woebegone  appear 
ance.  At  any  other  time  it  would  have 
aroused  her  solicitude ;  but  it  was  not  strange 
that  on  this  day  she  should  have  had  no 
thought  save  for  herself  and  her  other  self. 

It  had,  indeed,  been  a  day  of  strangely 
mingled  emotions  for  Paul. 

Supposing  a  lover  were  separated  from  his 
mistress,  and  that  the  privilege  of  being  with 


158  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

her,  and  spending  his  days  in  sight  of  her,  were 
offered  him  by  some  fairy,  but  only  on  condi 
tion  that  all  memory  of  him  should  be  blotted 
from  her  mind,  and  that  she  should  see  in 
him  merely  a  stranger,  —  is  it  probable,  how 
ever  great  might  be  the  desire  of  such  a  lover 
to  behold  his  mistress,  that  he  would  consent 
to  gratify  it  on  these  terms? 

But  it  was  with  Paul  as  if  he  had  done  just 
this.  That  the  sight  of  his  idol  should  have 
fallen  to  his  lot  on  earth ;  that  he  should  hear 
the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  breathe  the  same 
air  with  her,  was,  on  the  one  hand,  a  felicity  so 
undreamed  of,  a  fortune  so  amazing,  that  he 
sometimes  wondered  how  he  could  enjoy  it  and 
still  retain  his  senses. 

But  when  he  met  her,  and  she  returned  his 
impassioned  look  with  a  mere  smile  of  civil 
recognition;  when  he  spoke  to  her  and  she 
answered  him  in  a  tone  of  conventional  polite 
ness, —  he  found  it  more  than  he  could  bear. 

The  eyes   of  her  picture  were  kinder   than 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  159 

hers.  He  had,  at  least,  been  able  to  comfort 
himself  with  the  belief  that,  as  a  spirit,  she  had 
known  of  his  love,  and  had  accepted  it.  Now, 
by  her  incarnation,  while  his  eyes  had  gained 
their  desire,  his  heart  had  lost  its  consolation. 

His  condition  of  mind  rapidly  became  des 
perate.  He  could  not  bear  to  be  in  Ida's 
presence.  Her  friendly,  formal  accent  was  un 
endurable  to  him.  Their  blank,  unrecognizing 
expression,  as  they  rested  on  him  in  mere 
kindliness,  made  her  lovely  eyes  awful  to  him 
as  a  Gorgon's. 

In  the  early  evening  he  found  Miss  Luding- 
ton  alone,  and  broke  out  to  her:  — 

"For  God's  sake,  can't  you  help  me?  I  shall 
go  mad  if  you  don't !  " 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  she  exclaimed, 
in  astonishment. 

"  Don't  you  see?  "  he  cried.  "  She  does  not 
know  me.  I  have  lost  her  instead  of  find 
ing  her.  I,  who  have  loved  her  ever  since  I  was 
a  baby,  am  no  more  than  a  stranger  to  her. 


I6O  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.    . 

Can't  you  see  how  she  looks  at  me?  She  has 
learned  to  know  you,  but  I  am  a  stranger  to 
her." 

"But  how  could  she  know  you,  Paul?  She 
did  not  know  me  till  it  was  explained  to  her. " 

"I  know,"  he  said.  "I  don't  blame  her,  but 
at  the  same  time  I  cannot  stand  it.  Can't 
you  help  me  with  her?  Can't  you  tell  her 
how  I  have  loved  her,  so  that  she  may  under 
stand  that  at  least?" 

"  Poor  Paul !  "  said  Miss  Ludington,  soothingly. 
"  In  my  own  happiness  I  had  almost  forgotten 
you.  But  I  can  see  how  hard  it  must  be  for 
you.  I  will  help  you.  I  will  tell  her  all  the 
story.  O  Paul !  is  she  not  beautiful-?  She  will 
love  you,  I  know  she  will  love  you  when 
she  hears  it,  and  how  happy  you  will  be, — 
happier  than  any  man  ever  was !  I  will  go 
to  her  now." 

And,  leaving  Paul  vaguely  encouraged  by 
her  confidence,  she  went  to  find  Ida. 

She   came  upon  her  in  the  sitting-room,  in- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  i6l 

tently  pondering  the  picture  above  the  fire 
place. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  a  love-story,  my  sister," 
she  said. 

"Whose  love-story?"  asked  Ida. 

"  Your  own." 

"But  I  never  had  a  love-story  or  a  lover. 
Nobody  can  possibly  know  that  better  than 
you  do." 

"  I  will  show  you  that  you  are  mistaken," 
said  Miss  Ludington,  smiling.  "  No  one  ever 
had  so  fond  or  faithful  a  lover  as  yours.  Sit 
down,  and  I  will  tell  you  your  own  love-story, 
for  the  strangest  thing  of  all  is  that  you  do  not 
know  it  yet." 

Beginning  with  Paul's  baby  fondness  for  her 
picture,  she  related  to  Ida  the  whole  story  of 
his  love  for  her,  which  had  grown  with  his 
growth,  and,  from  a  boyish  sentiment,  become 
the  ruling  passion  of  the  man,  blinding  him  to 
the  charms  of  living  women,  and  making  him 
a  monk  for  her  sake. 


1 62  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

She  described  the  effect  upon  him  of  the  first 
suggestion  that  it  might  be  possible  to  commu 
nicate  with  her  spirit,  and  how  her  presence  on 
earth  was  due  to  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
had  insisted  upon  making  the  attempt. 

Then  she  asked  Ida  to  imagine  what  must 
be  the  anguish  of  such  a  lover  on  finding  that 
she  did  not  know  him,  —  that  he  was  nothing 
more  than  a  stranger  to  her.  She  told  her  how, 
in  his  desperation,  he  had  appealed  to  her  to 
plead  his  case  and  to  relate  his  story,  that  his 
mistress  might,  at  least,  know  his  love,  though 
she  might  not  be  able  to  return  it. 

Ida  had  listened  at  first  in  sheer  wonder,  but 
as  Miss  Ludington  went  on  describing  this  great 
love,  which  all  unseen  she  had  inspired,  to  find 
awaiting  her  full-grown  on  her  return  to  earth, 
her  cheek  began  to  flush,  a  soft  smile  played 
about  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  in  ten 
der  revery. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  to  me,"  she  said,  gently, 
as  Miss  Ludington  finished. 


MISS  LUDING TON'S  SISTER.  163 

When  Paul  entered,  Ida  was  alone,  standing 
in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

He  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  lifted  the 
hem  of  her  dress  to  his  lips. 

"  Paul,  my  lover,"  she  said  softly. 

At  this  he  seized  her  hand  and  covered  it 
with  kisses.  She  gently  drew  him  to  his  feet. 
He  heard  her  say,  "Forgive  me,  Paul;  I  did 
not  know." 

Her  warm  breath  mingled  with  his,  and  she 
kissed  him  on  the  lips. 


1 64  MISS  LUDINGTQN'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER  X. 

TN  the  days  that  followed,  Ida  was  the  object 
-*•  of  a  devotion  on  the  part  of  Miss  Luding- 
ton  and  Paul  which  it  would  be  inadequate 
to  describe  as  anything  less  than  sheer  idolatry. 
Her  experience  was  such  as  a  goddess's  might 
be  who  should  descend  from  heaven  and  take 
up  her  abode  in  bodily  form  among  her  wor 
shippers,  accepting  in  person  the  devotion 
previously  lavished  on  her  effigy. 

With  Miss  Ludington  this  devotion  was  the 
more  intense  as  it  was  but  a  sublimed  form  of 
selfishness,  like  that  of  the  mother's  to  her 
child,  whom  she  feels  to  be  a  part,  and  the 
choicest  part,  of  her  own  life.  The  instinct  of 
maternity,  never  gratified  in  her  by  the  pos 
session  of  children,  asserted  itself  toward  this 
radiant  girl,  whose  being  was  so  much  closer 
to  hers  than  even  a  child's  could  be,  whose 


MISS  LUDINGl^ON'S  SISTER.  165 

life  was  so  wonderfully  her  own  and  yet  not 
her  own,  that,  in  loving  her,  self-love  became 
transfigured  and  adorable.  She  could  not 
have  told  whether  the  sense  of  their  identity 
or  their  difference  were  the  sweeter. 

Her  delight  in  the  girl's  loveliness  was  a 
transcendent  blending  of  a  woman's  pleasure 
in  her  own  beauty  and  a  lover's  admiration 
of  it.  She  had  transferred  to  Ida  all  sense 
of  personal  identity  excepting  just  enough  to 
taste  the  joy  of  loving,  admiring,  and  serving 
her. 

To  wait  upon  her  was  her  greatest  happiness. 
There  was  no  service  so  menial  that  she  would 
not  have  been  glad  to  perform  it  for  her,  and 
which  she  did  not  grudge  the  servants  the 
privilege  of  rendering.  The  happiness  which 
flooded  her  heart  at  this  time  was  beyond 
description.  It  was  not  such  a  happiness  as 
enabled  her  to  imagine  what  that  of  heaven 
might  be,  but  it  was  the  happiness  of  heaven 
itself. 


1 66  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  , 

As  might  be  expected,  the  semi-sacredness 
attaching  to  Ida,  as  a  being  something  more 
than  earthly  in  the  circumstances  of  her  advent, 
lent  a  rare  strain  to  Paul's  passion. 

There  is  nothing  sweeter  to  a  lover  than  to 
feel  that  his  mistress  is  of  a  higher  nature  and 
a  finer  quality  than  himself.  With  many  lovers, 
no  doubt,  this  feeling  is  but  the  delusion  of  a 
fond  fancy,  having  no  basis  in  any  real  su 
periority  on  the  part  of  the  loved  one.  But 
the  mystery  surrounding  Ida  would  have  tinged 
the  devotion  of  the  most  prosaic  lover  with 
an  unusual  sentiment  of  awe. 

Paul  compared  himself  with  those  fortunate 
youths  of  antiquity  who  were  beloved  by  the 
goddesses  of  Olympus,  and  in  whose  hearts 
religious  adoration  and  the  passion  of  love 
blended  in  one  emotion. 

Ever  since  that  night  when  her  heart  had 
been  melted  by  the  story  of  his  love,  Ida  had 
treated  him  with  the  graciousness  which  a 
maiden  accords  to  an  accepted  lover.  But  far 


MISS  LUDING TON'S  SISTER.  l6j 

from  claiming  the  privileges  which  he  might 
apparently  have  enjoyed,  it  seemed  to  him  pre 
sumption  enough  and  happiness  enough  to 
kiss  her  dress,  her  sleeve,  a  tress  of  her  hair, 
or,  at  most,  her  hand,  and  to  dream  of  her  lips. 

The  dazed  appearance,  as  of  one  doubtful 
of  herself  and  all  about  her,  which  Ida  had 
worn  the  night  when  she  was  brought  home, 
had  now  wholly  passed  away.  But  a  certain 
pensiveness  remained.  Her  smiles  were  the 
smiles  of  affection,  not  of  gayety,  and  there 
was  always  a  shadow  in  her  eyes.  It  was  as 
if  the  recollection  of  the  mystery  from  which 
her  life  had  emerged,  were  never  absent  from 
her  mind. 

Still  she  took  so  much  pleasure  in  her  daily 
drives  with  Miss  Ludington  that  the  latter 
ordered  a  pony  chaise  for  her  special  use,  and 
when  Paul  arranged  a  croquet  set  on  the  village 
green  she  permitted  him  to  teach  her  the  game, 
and  even  showed  some  interest  in  it. 

When  the  first  dresses  which  had   been  or- 


1 68  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

dered  for  her  came  home,  she  was  delighted 
as  any  girl  must  have  been,  for  they  were 
the  richest  and  most  beautiful  fabrics  that 
money  could  buy;  but  Miss  Ludington  seemed, 
of  the  two,  far  the  more  pleased. 

For  herself  she  had  cared  nothing  for  dress. 
In  forty  years  she  had  not  given  a  thought 
to  personal  adornment,  but  Ida's  toilet  be 
came  her  most  absorbing  preoccupation.  On 
her  account  she  became  a  close  student  of 
the  fashion-papers,  and  but  for  the  girl's  pro 
tests  would  have  bought  her  a  new  dress  at 
least  every  day. 

She  would  have  liked  Ida  to  change  her 
costume  a  dozen  times  between  morning  and 
evening,  and  asked  no  better  than  to  serve 
as  her  dressing-maid.  To  brush  and  braid 
her  shining  hair,  stealthily  kissing  it  the  while ; 
to  array  her  in  sheeny  satins  and  airy  muslins ; 
to  hang  jewels  upon  her  neck,  and  clasp  brace 
lets  upon  her  wrists,  and  to  admire  and  caress 
the  completed  work  of  her  hands,  constituted 


MISS  LUDINGTON1  S  SISTER.  169 

an  occupation  which  she  would  have  liked  to 
make  perpetual. 

When  Miss  Ludington's  mother  had  died  she 
had  left  to  her  daughter,  then  a  young  girl, 
all  her  jewels,  including  a  rather  fine  set  of 
diamonds.  When  one  day  Miss  Ludington 
took  the  gems  from  the  box  in  which  they 
had  been  hidden  away  for  half  a  lifetime,  and 
hung  them  upon  Ida,  saying,  "  These  are 
yours,  my  sister,"  the  girl  protested,  albeit 
with  scintillating  eyes,  against  the  greatness 
of  the  gift. 

"Why,  my  darling,  they  are  yours,"  replied 
Miss  Ludington.  "I  am  not  making  you  a 
gift.  It  was  to  you  that  mother  gave  them. 
I  only  return  you  your  own.  When  you  left 
the  world  I  inherited  them  from  you,  and  now 
that  you  have  come  back  I  return  them  to 
you." 

And  so  the  girl  was  fain  to  keep  them. 

Thus  it  had  come  about  that  before  Ida  had 
been  in  the  house  a  week  it  was  no  longer  as 


1 70  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

a  mystery,  or,  at  least,  as  an  awe-inspiring  mys 
tery,  but  as  an  ineffably  dear  and  precious 
reality,  that  her  presence  was  felt.  Had  a 
stranger  chanced  to  'come  there  on  a  visit,  at 
that  time,  he  would  doubtless  have  been 
struck  with  the  fact  that  a  young  girl  was 
the  central  figure  of  the  household,  around 
whom  its  other  members  revolved ;  but  it  is 
probable  that  this  fact,  in  itself  not  unparalleled 
in  American  households,  would  have  seemed 
to  such  an  observer  sufficiently  explained  by 
the  unusual  gentleness  and  beauty  of  the  girl 
herself.  The  necessity  of  a  supernatural  ex 
planation  certainly  would  not  have  occurred 
to  him. 

The  servants  had  been  merely  informed  that 
Ida  was  a  relative  of  Miss  Ludington's,  and 
though  they  were  very  curious  as  to  what 
connection  she  might  be,  their  speculations 
did  not  extend  beyond  the  commonly  recog 
nized  modes  of  relationship.  The  house 
keeper,  indeed,  who  had  been  in  Miss  Luding- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  171 

ton's  employ  many  years,  and  supposed  she 
knew  all  about  the  family/ thought  it  strange 
that  she  could  recall  no  young  lady  relative 
answering  to  Ida's  description.  But  as  she 
found  that  her  most  ingenious  efforts  entirely 
failed  to  extract  any  information  on  the  subject 
from  Miss  Ludington,  Paul,  or  Ida  herself,  she 
was  obliged,  like  the  rest,  to  accept  the  bare 
fact  that  the  new-comer  was  Miss  Ida  Luding 
ton,  and  that  she  was  somehow  related  to  Miss 
Ludington;  a  fact  speedily  supplemented  by 
the  discovery  that  to  please  Miss  Ida  was  the 
surest  way  to  the  favor  of  Miss  Ludington  and 
Mr.  Paul. 

On  that  score,  however,  there  was  no  need 
of  any  special  inducement,  Ida's  sweet  face, 
and  gracious,  considerate  ways,  having  already 
made  her  a  favorite  with  all  who  were  attached 
to  the  household. 

It  was  ten  days  or  a  fortnight  after  Ida  had 
been  in  the  house  that  Miss  Ludington  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  Dr.  Hull,  in  which  that 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


gentleman  said  that  he  should  do  himself  the 
honor  of  calling  on  her  the  following  day. 

He  said  she  might  be  interested  to  know  that 
he  had  already  received  several  communica 
tions  from  Mrs.  Legrand,  through  mediums,  in 
which  she  had  declared  herself  well  content  to 
have  died  in  demonstrating  so  great  a  truth  as 
that  immortality  is  not  individual,  but  personal. 
She  considered  herself  to  be  most  fortunate  in 
that  her  death  had  not  been  a  barren  one,  as 
most  deaths  are;  but  that,  in  dying,  she  had 
been  permitted  to  become  the  second  mother 
of  another,  and  far  brighter  life  than  hers  had 
been.  She  felt  that  she  had  made  a  grand  bar 
ter  for  her  own  earthly  existence,  which  had 
been  so  sick  and  weary. 

The  bulk  of  Dr.  Hull's  letter,  which  was 
quite  a  long  one,  consisted  of  further  quotations 
from  Mrs.  Legrand's  communications. 

She  said  that  she  had  been  welcomed  by  a 
great  multitude  of  spirits,  who  to  her  had  owed 
the  beginning  of  their  recognition  on  earth,  and 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  173 

that  their  joy  over  this  discovery,  which  should 
bring  consolation  to  many  mournful  mortals, 
as  well  as  to  themselves,  was  only  equalled  by 
their  wonder  that  it  had  not  been  made  years 
before.  It  appeared  that,  since  intercourse 
between  the  two  worlds  had  first  begun,  it  had 
been  the  constant  effort  of  the  spirits  to  teach 
this  truth  to  men ;  but  the  stupid  refusal  of  the 
latter  to  comprehend  had  till  now  baffled  every 
attempt.  How  it  had  been  possible  that  men 
who  had  reached  the  point  of  believing  in 
immortality  at  all  should  be  content  to  rest  in 
the  inadequate  and  preposterous  conception 
that  it  only  attached  to  the  latest  phase  of  the 
individual,  was  the  standing  wonder  of  the 
spirit  world. 

It  was  as  if  one  should  throw  away  the  con 
tents  of  a  cup  of  wine,  and  carefully  preserve 
the  dregs  in  the  bottom. 

That  so  loose  an  association  of  personalities  1 
as  the    individual,  and    those    personalities    so 
utterly  diverse,  no  two  of  them  even  alive  at  the 


174  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

same  time,  should  have  impressed  even  the  most 
casual  observer  as  a  unit  of  being,  —  a  single 
person,  — was  accounted  a  marvel  by  the  angels. 
If  men  had  believed  all  the  members  of  a 
family  to  have  but  one  soul  among  them, 
their  mistake  would  have  been  more  excusable, 
for  the  members  of  a  family  are,  at  least,  alive 
at  the  same  time,  while  the  persons  of  an 
individual  are  not  even  that. 

Dr.  Hull  said  that  he  had  gathered  from 
Mrs.  Legrand's  communications  that  she  had 
seen  many  things  which  would  teach  mortals 
not  to  grieve  for  their  departed  friends,  as  for 
shades  exiled  to  a  world  of  strangers.  To  such 
mourners  she  sent  word  that  their  own  past 
selves,  who  have  likewise  vanished  from  the 
earth,  are  keeping  their  dear  dead  company  in 
heaven.  And  far  more  congenial  company  to 
them  are  these  past  selves  than  their  present 
selves  would  be,  who,  through  years  and 
changes  since  their  separation,  have  often 
grown  out  of  sympathy  with  the  departed,  as 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  175 

they  will  find  when  they  shall  meet  them. 
The  aged  husband,  who  has  mourned  all  his 
life  the  bride  taken  from  him  in  girlhood,  will 
find  himself  well-nigh  a  stranger  to  her,  and  his 
mourning  to  have  been  superfluous ;  for  all 
these  years  his  own  former  self,  the  husband  of 
her  youth,  has  borne  her  company. 

Dr.  Hull  said,  in  closing,  that,  as  probably 
Miss  Ludington  would  presume,  his  particular 
motive  in  making  bold  to  break  in  upon  her 
privacy  was  a  desire,  which  he  was  sure  she 
would  not  confound  with  vulgar  curiosity,  to 
see  again  the  young  lady  who  had  succeeded 
to  his  friend's  earthly  life  in  so  wonderful  a 
manner,  and  to  learn,  what,  if  any,  were  the 
later  developments  in  her  case.  He  was  pre 
paring  a  book  upon  the  subject,  in  which, 
of  course  without  giving  the  true  names,  he 
intended  to  make  the  facts  of  the  case  known 
to  the  world.  Its  publication,  he  felt  assured, 
would  mark  a  new  departure  in  spiritualism. 

Miss  Ludington  read  the  letter  aloud  to  Ida 


176  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

and  Paul,  as  all  three  sat  together  in  the 
gloaming  on  the  piazza.  As  Paul  from  time  to 
time,  during  the  reading,  glanced  at  Ida  he 
noticed  that  she  kept  her  face  averted. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Miss  Ludington,  as  she 
finished  the  letter,  w  that  Mrs.  Legrand  is 
happy.  It  is  so  hard  to  realize  that  about  the 
dead.  The  feeling  that  our  happiness  was  pur 
chased  by  her  death  has  been  the  only  cloud 
upon  it.  And  yet  it  would  be  strange  indeed 
if  she  were  not  happy.  As  she  says,  she  did 
not  die  a  barren  death,  but  in  giving  birth. 
And  it  was  no  tiny  infant's  existence,  of  doubt 
ful  value,  that  she  exchanged  her  life  for,  but  a 
woman's  in  the  fulness  of  her  youth  and  beauty. 
Such  a  destiny  as  hers  never  fell  to  a  mother 
before." 

"  Never  before,"  echoed  Paul,  rising  to  his 
feet  in  an  access  of  enthusiasm ;  "  but  who 
shall  say  that  it  may  not  often  fall  to  the 
lot  of  women  in  the  ages  to  come,  as  the 
relations  between  the  worlds  of  men  and 


MISS  LUDING 'TON'S  SISTER.  177 

of  spirits,  become  more  fully  known?  The 
dark  and  unknown  path  that  Ida  trod  that 
night  back  to  our  world  will,  doubtless,  in 
future  times,  become  a  beaten  and  lighted  way. 
This  woman  through  whom  she  lives  again  did 
not  die  of  her  own  choice ;  but  I  do  not  find  it 
incredible  that  many  women  will  hereafter  be 
found  willing  and  eager  to  die  as  she  did,  to 
bring  back  to  earth  the  good,  the  wise,  the 
heroic,  and  beloved.  The  world  will  never 
need  to  lose  its  heroes  then,  for  there  will  never 
lack  ardent  and  devoted  women  to  contend  for 
such  crowns  of  motherhood." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  for  he  had  observed 
that  Ida's  face  betrayed  acute  distress. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "You  do  not  like 
us  to  talk  of  this." 

"I  think  I  do  not,"  she  replied,  in  a  low 
voice,  without  looking  up.  "It  affects  me  very 
strangely  to  think  about  it  much.  I  would  like 
to  forget  it  if  I  could  and  feel  that  I  am  like 
other  people." 


1/8  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

She  had,  in  fact,  shown  a  marked  and  increas 
ing  indisposition  almost  from  the  first  to  dis 
cuss  the  events  of  that  wonderful  night. at  Mrs. 
Legrand's.  After  having  had  the  circumstances 
once  fully  explained  to  her,  she  had  never  since 
referred  to  them  of  her  own  accord. 

She  apparently  had  the  shrinking  which  any 
person,  and  especially  a  woman,  would  nat 
urally  have  from  the  idea  of  being  regarded  as 
something  abnormal  or  uncanny,  and  mingled 
with  this  was,  perhaps,  a  certain  sacred  shame- 
facedness,  at  the  thought  that  this  most 
intimate  and  vital  mystery  of  her  second  birth 
had  been  witnessed  and  was  the  subject  of 
curious  speculations. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


I79 


CHAPTER  XI. 

r  I  ^HE  ladies  were  out  driving,  the  following 
afternoon,  when  Dr.  Hull  arrived,  but 
Paul  was  at  home.  He  brought  out  some 
cigars,  and  they  made  themselves  comfortable 
on  the  piazza. 

Dr.  Hull  was  full  of  questions  about  Ida: 
how  she  appeared;  what  relations  had  estab 
lished  themselves  between  Miss  Ludington  and 
her;  whether  she  showed  any  memory  what 
ever  of  her  disembodied  state ;  whether  the 
knowledge  of  the  mystery  involving  her  seemed 
in  any  way  to  affect  her  spirits  or  temper,  or 
to  set  her  apart  in  her  own  estimation  from 
others,  with  many  other  acute  and  carefully 
considered  queries  calculated  to  elicit  the  facts 
of  her  mental  and  spiritual  condition. 

"There  is  one  point,"  said  the  doctor,  "about 
which  I  am  particularly  curious.  How  is  it 


l8o  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

with  her  memory  of  her  former  life  on  earth? 
Does  it  break  off  suddenly,  as  if  on  some 
particular  day  or  hour  her  spirit  had  made 
way  for  its  successor,  and  passed  away  from 
earth?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Paul,  "  she  has  in 
timated,  in  talking  over  the  past  with  Miss 
Ludington,  that  the  memory  of  her  life  on 
earth  is  clear  and  precise  during  its  earlier 
portions,  but  that  toward  the  last  it  grows  hazy 
and  indistinct." 

"Exactly,"  broke  in  the  doctor.  "Just  as 
if  her  personality  had  a  little  overlapped  and 
melted  at  the  edge  into  that  which  followed  it. 
Yes,  it  is  as  I  thought  it  might  be.  Youth,  or 
childhood,  or  infancy,  or  any  other  epoch  of 
life,  does  not  abruptly  cease  and  give  place  to 
another.  Their  souls  are  gradually  withdrawn 
as  the  light  is  withdrawn  from  the  sky  at  even 
ing,  and  a  space  of  twilight  renders  the 
transition  from  one  to  the  other  perceptible 
only  in  the  result,  not  in  the  process.  This  I 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  iSl 

think  is  a  view  of  the  matter  that  is  corrob 
orated  by  the  testimony  of  our  own  conscious 
ness,  don't  you,  Mr.  De  Riemer?" 

"On  the  whole,  yes,"  replied  Paul.  "And 
still,  if  she  had  said  that  the  severing  of  her 
personality  from  that  which  succeeded  it  was 
sharp  and  clearly  defined,  so  that  up  to  a 
certain  day,  or  even  hour,  her  memory  was 
full  and  distinct,  and  then  became  a  blank, 
there  are  passages  in  my  own  experience,  and 
I  think  in  that  of  many  persons,  which  her 
statement  would  have  made  comprehensible. 
I  think  that  to  many,  perhaps  to  all  persons  of 
reflective  turn  of  mind,  there  come  days,  even 
hours,  when  they  feel  that  they  have  suddenly 
passed  from  one  epoch  of  life  into  another. 
A  voice  says  in  their  hearts  with  unmistakable 
clearness,  '  Yesterday  I  was  young ;  to-day  I 
am  young  no  longer.'  There  is  also  some 
times  a  day,  I  think,  when  the  middle-aged 
man  becomes  suddenly  aware  that  he  is  old. 
Who  shall  deny  the  truth  of  these  intuitions, 


1 82  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

or  say  that  it  is  not  in  that  very  day  and  hour 
-that  the  spirit  of  youth  or  of  maturity  takes  its 
flight?" 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Dr.  Hull,  "  have  you  ever 
speculated  on  the  probable  number  of  the  souls 
of  an  individual?  It  is  an  interesting  question." 

"  I  suppose  that  the  number  may  greatly 
differ  in  different  individuals,"  replied  Paul. 
"  In  individuals  of  many-sided  minds  and  ver 
satile  dispositions,  there  are,  perhaps,  more 
distinct  personalities  than  constitute  an  indi 
vidual  of  less  complex  character.  But  how 
many  in  either  case  only  God  can  tell.  Who 
can  say?  It  may  be  that  with  every  breath 
which  I  expire  a  soul  or  spiritual  impression  of 
myself  is  sent  forth.  The  universe  is  large 
enough  even  for  that.  Such  may  at  least  be  the 
case  in  moments  of  special  intensity,  when  we 
live,  as  we  say,  a  year  in  an  hour." 

They  smoked  on  awhile  in  silence.  Presently 
Paul  said,  "  When  the  world  comes  to  recognize 
the  composite  character  of  the  individual,  that 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  183 

it  is  composed  of  not  one,  but  many  persons, 
a  new  department  will  be  added  to  ethics, 
relating  to  the  duties  of  the  successive  selves  of 
an  individual  to  one  another.  It  will  be  recog 
nized  on  the  one  hand  that  it  is  the  duty  of  a 
man  to  fulfil  all  reasonable  obligations  incurred 
by  his  past  selves,  on  the  same  principle  that  a 
pious  son  fulfils  the  equitable  obligations  in 
curred  by  a  parent.  This  duty  is,  indeed,  recog 
nized  to-day,  although  not  on  the  correct  basis. 

* — t 
As  regards  the  ethical  relation  of  a  man  to  the  { 

selves  who  succeed  him,  a  wholly  new  idea  will 
be  introduced.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  duty  of 
a  man  to  lead  a  wise  life,  to  be  prudent,  to 
make  the  most  of  his  powers,  to  maintain  a 
good  name,  is  not  a  duty  to  himself,  merely  an 
enlightened  selfishness,  as  it  is  now  called,  but  a 
genuine  form  of  altruism,  a  duty  to  others,  as 
truly  as  if  those  others  bore  different  names 
instead  of  succeeding  to  his  name.  It  will  be 
seen  that  a  man's  duty  to  his  later  selves  is 
like  the  duty  of  a  father  to  his  helpless  children : 


1 84  MISS  LUDING TON'S  SISTER. 

to  provide  for  their  inheritance,  to  see  that  he 
leaves  them  a  sound  body  and  a  good  name,  if 
nothing  more.  It  will  be  perceived  that  the 
man  who  is  charitably  called  "his  own  worst 
enemy,"  is  not  only  no  better  but  worse  than  if 
he  were  the  enemy  of  his  neighbors,  because  he 
is  blasting  coming  lives  that  have  a  far  nearer 
claim  upon  him  than  any  neighbor  can  have." 

"  There  will  arise,  also,  in  that  day,  I  fancy," 
pursued  Paul,  "  some  rather  delicate  questions 
as  to  how  far  a  man  may  properly  bind  his 
future  selves  by  pledges  and  engagements 
which  he  has  no  means  of  knowing  will  meet 
with  their  approval,  and  which  may  quite  pos 
sibly  prove  intolerable  yokes  to  them." 

"Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "  that  is,  indeed, 
an  interesting  point.  And,  meanwhile,  I  should 
say  the  intelligible  discussion  of  these  questions 
will  involve  a  modification  in  grammatical 
usage.  If  we  believe  that  our  present  selves 
are  distinct  persons  from  our  past  selves  it  is 
manifestly  improper  to  use  the  first  person  in 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  185 

speaking  of  our  past  selves.  Either  the  third 
person  must  be  used,  or  some  new  grammatical 
form  invented." 

"  Yes,"  said  Paul.  "  If  entire  accuracy  is 
sought  the  first  person  cannot  be  properly  em 
ployed  by  any  one  in  referring  either  to  his  past 
or  his  future  selves,  to  what  has  been  done 
or  to  what  will  be  done  by  them." 

At  this  moment  the  carriage  drew  up  before 
the  house,  and  Paul  helped  the  ladies  out. 

Miss  Ludington  greeted  Dr.  Hull  cordially, 
and  stopped  upon  the  piazza  in  hat  and 
shawl  to  talk  with  him.  But  Ida  merely 
bowed  stiffly,  with  lowered  eyes,  and  passed 
within. 

Before  they  were  called  to  tea  Paul  found 
an  opportunity  to  tell  the  doctor  how  sensitive 
Ida  was  to  any  discussion  of  the  mystery  con 
nected  with  her,  and  to  suggest  that  at  table 
any  direct  reference  to  the  subject  should  be 
avoided. 

The    expression   of  disappointment    on    Dr. 


1 86  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Hull's  countenance  seemed  to  indicate  that  he 
had  anticipated  thoroughly  cross-questioning 
her  in  the  interest  of  spiritual  science ;  but  he 
said  that  he  would  regard  Paul's  suggestion, 
and  even  admitted  that  it  was,  perhaps,  natural 
she  should  feel  as  she  did,  although  he  had  not 
anticipated  it. 

At  the  table,  therefore,  Ida  was  spared  any 
direct  reference  to  herself  as  a  phenomenon, 
and  although  Dr.  Hull  talked  of  nothing  but 
spiritualism  and  the  immortality  of  past  selves, 
it  was  in  their  broad  and  general  aspects  that 
the  subjects  were  discussed. 

"  Your  nephew,"  he  said  to  Miss  Ludington, 
"  has  evidently  given  much  time  and  profound 
thought  to  these  matters ;  and  although  I  am 
an  old  man,  and  have  been  more  interested  in 
the  spiritual  then  the  material  universe  for 
these  many  years,  I  was  glad  of  an  opportunity 
to  sit  at  his  feet  this  afternoon." 

Turning  to  Paul,  he  added,  "  What  you 
were  saying  about  the  possibility  that  souls, 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  187 

or,  at  least,  spiritual  impressions,  destined  to 
eternity,  are  given  forth  by  us  constantly,  as  if 
at  every  breath,  is  wonderfully  borne  out  in  a 
passage  from  a  communication  I  had  from  Mrs. 
Legrand  yesterday,  to  which  I  meant  to  have 
alluded  at  the  time  you  were  speaking.  She 
said  that  those  who  supposed  that  the  spirit- 
land  contained  only  one  soul  for  every  indi 
vidual  that  had  ever  lived  had  no  conception 
of  its  vastness,  and  that  the  stream  of  souls 
constantly  ascending  is  like  a  thick  mist  rising 
from  all  the  earth.  The  phrase  struck  me  as 
strangely  strong,  but  I  can  conceive  now  how 
she  might  have  come  to  use  it. 

"  What  is  your  conjecture,  or  have  you  none 
at  all,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
still  addressing  Paul,  "  as  to  the  relation  which 
will  exist  in  the  spirit-land  among  the  several 
souls  of  the  same  individual?" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Paul,  "that  the  souTs  / 
of  an   individual,  being  contemporaneous  over 
there,   and  all  together  in  the  eternal  present, 


1 88  MISS  LUDING 'TON'S  SISTER. 

will  be  capable  of  blending  in  a  unity  which 
here  on  earth,  where  one  is  gone  before  another 
comes,  is  impossible.  The  result  of  such  a 
blending  would  be  a  being  which,  instead  of 
shining  with  the  single  ray  of  a  soul  on  earth, 
would  blaze  from  a  hundred  facets  simultane 
ously.  The  word  "  individual,"  as  applied  here 
on  earth,  is  a  misuse  of  language.  It  is  absurd 
to  call  that  an  individual  which  every  hour 
divides.  The  earthly  stage  of  human  life  is 
so  small  that  there  is  room  for  but  one  of  the 
persons  of  an  individual  upon  it  at  one  time. 
The  past  and  future  selves  have  to  wait  in  the 
side  scenes.  But  over  there  the  stage  is  larger. 
There  will  be  room  for  all  at  once.  The  idea 
of  an  individual,  all  whose  personalities  are 
contemporaneous,  may  there  be  realized,  and 

.  such  an  individual  would  be,    by    any    earthly 

i  measurement,  a  god. 

"  But  there  are  many  individuals,"  he  pur 
sued  after  a  pause,  "  of  which  we  cannot 
imagine  a  blending  of  the  successive  persons  to 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  189 

be  possible.  There,  for  instance,  are  cases 
where  there  exist  radical  and  bitter  oppositions 
and  differences  of  character,  and  propensity 
between  the  youth  and  the  manhood  of  the 
individual.  In  the  case  of  such  ill-assorted 
personalities  a  divorce  ex  vinculo  individui 
may  be  the  only  remedy,  and,  possibly,  the 
parties  to  it  may  be  sent  back  to  earth, 
to  take  their  chances  of  finding  more  congenial 
companions." 

Ida  had  not  said  a  word  during  the  time 
they  had  sat  at  table.  She  had,  indeed, 
scarcely  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  plate. 

As  they  rose  she  challenged  Paul  to  a 
game  at  croquet,  for  which  the  twilight  left 
ample  opportunity. 

Miss  Ludington  and  Dr.  Hull  sat  upon  the 
piazza  in  full  view  of  the  players. 

"What  do  you  call  her?"  he  asked,  abruptly, 
after  a  pause  in  their  conversation. 

"Why,  we  call  her  Ida,  of  course,"  replied 
Miss  Ludington,  with  some  surprise.  "What 


IQO  MISS  LUDINGTON^  S  SISTER. 

else  could  we  call  her?  Is  not  her  name  Ida 
Ludington?" 

"  On  my  own  account,"  said  Dr.  Hull,  "  I 
should  not  have  needed  to  ask  you,  because  I 
am  acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  the 
reassumption  of  her  earthly  life  and  name,  but 
how  would  you  introduce  her  to  one  who  was 
not  so  acquainted,  —  to  any  one,  in  fact,  besides 
yourself,  your  nephew,  and  myself?" 

"  In  the  same  way,  I  suppose,"  replied  Miss 
Ludington. 

"Precisely,"  said  the  doctor;  "but  if  they 
were  acquainted  with  your  family,  or  if  they 
took  any  special  interest  in  her,  would  they  not 
want  to  know  what  was  the  nature  of  her  rela 
tionship  to  you?  She  could  not  be  your 
daughter.  They  would  ask  what  was  her 
connection  with  your  family.  To  tell  them  the 
truth  would  be  of  no  use  at  all,  for  no  one  on 
earth  would  believe  what  we  know  to  be  true, 
nor  could  I  blame  them,  for  I,  myself,  would 
not  have  believed  it  if  I  had  not  been  a  witness." 


MISS  LUDINGTON1  S  SISTER.  191 

Miss  Ludington  was  silent  a  while.  Then 
she  said  :  "  It  does  not  matter ;  we  see  few,  I 
may  say  no  strangers,  or  even  acquaintances ; 
we  live  alone.  It  is  enough  that  we  know  her." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  It  is,  indeed, 
quite  another  thing  to  what  it  would  be  if 
you  had  a  large  circle  of  acquaintances.  So 
long  as  you  live,  it  is  not  important,  and  I 
presume  that  your  health  is  good." 

"What  is  it  that  is  not  important?"  de 
manded  Miss  Ludington. 

"Why,  that  she  should  have  a  name,"  re 
plied  the  doctor,  lifting  his  eyebrows  with  an 
expression  of  slight  surprise.  "Unfortunately, 
the  courts  do  not  recognize  such  a  relation  as 
exists  between  you  and  this  young  lady.  You 
are  the  only  Miss  Ludington  in  the  eye  of  the 
law,  and  she  is  non-existent,  or,  at  least,  an 
anonymous  person.  She  has  not  so  much  as  a 
name  to  sign  on  a  hotel  register.  But  so  long 
as  you  live  to  look  after  her  she  is  not  likely 
to  suffer." 


IQ2  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

"  But  I  may  die !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Luding- 
ton, 

"In  that  case  it  would  be  rather  awkward 
for  her,"  said  the  doctor.  "  She  would  die  with 
you,  in  the  eye  of  the  law ;  "  and  here  he 
branched  off  into  rather  a  fantastical  discourse 
on  the  oddities  and  quiddities  of  the  law  and 
lawyers,  against  whom  he  seemed  to  have 
a  great  grudge. 

"But,  Dr.  Hull,  what  can  I  do  about  it?" 
said  Miss  Ludington,  as  he  quieted  down. 

x"  Excuse  me.     About  what?" 

"  How  can  I  give  her  a  name  in  the  eye  of 
the  law?" 

"  Oh  —  ah  —  exactly  !  Well,  that's  easy 
enough ;  there  are  two  ways.  You  can  adopt 
her,  or  some  young  fellow  can  marry  her,  and  if 
I  were  a  young  man, —  if  you'll  excuse  an  old 
gentleman  for  the  remark,  —  it  would  not  be 
my  fault  if  she  were  not  provided  with  a  legal 
title  very  soon." 

Declining  Miss  Ludington's  proposal  to  send 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  193 

him    to    the   ferry  in  her  carriage,  the  doctor, 
soon  after,  took  his  leave. 

He  paused  as  he  passed  the  croquet-ground 
and  stood  watching  the  players.  It  came 
Ida's  turn,  and  he  waited  to  see  her  play.  It 
was  a  very  easy  shot  which  she  had  to  make ; 
she  missed  it  badly.  He  bade  them  good- 
evening,  and  went  on. 


194  MISS  LUDING TON'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

TT  was  but  a  few  days  after  Dr.  Hull's  visit 
-••  that  Miss  Ludington  had  a  sudden  illness, 
lasting  several  days,  which,  during  its  crisis, 
caused  much  alarm. 

Ida  turned  all  the  servants  out  of  the  sick 
room  and  constituted  herself  nurse,  watcher, 
and  chambermaid.  If  she  lay  down  at  all 
it  was  only  after  leaving  a  substitute  charged 
to  call  her  upon  the  slightest  occasion.  Light 
and  quick  of  step,  strong  and  gentle  of  hand, 
patient,  tireless,  and  tender,  she  showed  her 
self  an  angel  of  the  sick-room. 

There  was,  indeed,  something  almost  eager 
in  the  manner  in  which  she  seized  upon  this 
opportunity  of  devoting  herself  to  Miss  Lud 
ington,  and  the  zeal  with  which  she  made 
the  most  of  every  possibility  of  rendering 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  195 

her  a  service.  She  seemed,  in  fact,  almost 
sorry  when  the  patient  had  no  further  need 
of  her  especial  attendance. 

To  Miss  Ludington  the  revelation  that  she 
was  so  dear  to  Ida  was  profoundly  affecting. 
It  was  natural  that  she  should  adore  Ida,  but 
that  Ida  should  be  correspondingly  devoted 
to  her  touched  her  in  proportion  to  its  un 
expectedness.  "  I  should  be  glad  to  be  sick 
always,  with  you  to  nurse  me,  my  sister,"  she 
said.  Whenever  she  addressed  Ida  by  this 
title  of  sister  her  voice  lingered  upon  the 
syllables  as  if  she  were  striving  to  realize 
all  the  mysterious  closeness  and  tenderness  of 
the  relation  between  them  which  its  use  im 
plied. 

The  period  of  convalescence,  during  which 
Miss  Ludington  sat  in  her  room,  lasted  sev 
eral  days,  and  one  evening  she  sent  for  Paul. 
She  was  alone  when  he  came  in,  and  after 
he  had  inquired  after  her  condition,  she 
motioned  him  to  a  chair. 


196  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

"  Sit  down,  Paul,"  she  said  ;  "  I  want  to  have 
a  little  talk  with  you." 

He  sat  down  and  she  went  on :  "I  find 
that  I  have  been  greatly  enfeebled  by  this 
attack,  and  though  the  doctor  tells  me  I  may 
regain  reasonable  health,  he  warns  me  that 
I  shall  not  live  forever,  and  that  when  I  die 
I  may  die  without  much  warning." 

Expressions  of  mingled  grief,  surprise,  and 
incredulity  from  Paul  interrupted  her  at  this 
point,  but  she  presently  went  on :  — 

"It  is  really  nothing  to  distress  yourself  over, 
my  dear  child.  He  does  not  say  that  I  may  not 
live  on  indefinitely,  but  only  that  when  Death 
comes  he  is  likely  to  enter  without  knock 
ing,  and  I'm  sure  any  sensible  person  would 
much  rather  have  it  so.  It  was  of  Ida  that 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you.  Since  I  have  been 
sick,  and  especially  since  what  the  doctor 
told  me,  I  have  been  thinking  what  would 
become  of  her  if  I  should  die.  Did  you  ever 
consider,  Paul,  that  she  has  not  even  a  name  ? 


MISS  LUDINGTON^  S  SISTER.  197 

The  world  does  not  recognize  the  way  by 
which  she  came  back  into  it,  and  in  the  eye 
of  the  law  she  has  no  right  to  the  name  of 
Ida  Ludington,  or  to  any  other." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Paul. 

"  It  does  not  matter  while  I  live,"  pursued 
Miss  Ludington;  "but  what  if  I  should 
die?" 

"Let  us  not  talk  of  that,"  replied  Paul, 
"  or  think  of  it.  Yet  even  in  that  event  I 
should  be  here  to  protect  her." 

Miss  Ludington  regarded  the  young  man  for 
some  moments  without  speaking,  and  then,  as 
a  slight  color  tinged  her  cheek,  she  said, 
"Paul,  do  you  love  her?" 

"  Do  you  need  to  ask  me  that?"  he  an 
swered. 

"No,  I  do  not,"  she  replied;  and  then  as 
she  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  the  color  in  her 
cheek  grew  deeper,  she  went  on :  "  You  know, 
Paul,  that,  as  society  is  constituted,  there 
is  but  one  way  in  which  a  young  man  can 


198  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

protect  a  young  girl  who  is  not  his  relative, 
and  that  is  by  marrying  her.  Have  you 
thought  of  that?" 

Paul's  face  flushed  a  deep  crimson,  and  his 
forehead  reddened  to  the  roots  of  the  hair  ;  after 
which  the  color  receded,  and  he  became  quite 
pale;  and  then  he  flushed  again,  deeper  than 
before,  till  his  eyes  became  congested,  and  he 
saw  Miss  Ludington  sitting  there  before  him, 
with  downcast  eyes  and  a  spot  of  color  in  either 
cheek,  as  through  a  fiery  mist. 

Yes,  he  had  thought  of  it. 

The  idea  that,  being  of  mystery  though  she 
was,  Ida  was  still  a  woman,  and  that  he  might 
one  day  possess  her  as  other  men  possess  their 
wives,  had  come  to  him,  but  it  had  caused  such 
an  ungovernable  ferment  in  his  blood,  and  sa 
vored  withal  of  such  temerity,  that  he  had  been 
fairly  afraid  to  indulge  it.  In  the  horizon  of 
his  mind  it  had  hovered  as  a  dream  of  unimag 
inable  felicity  which  might  some  day  in  the  far 
future  come  to  pass ;  but  that  was  all. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  199 

Finally  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice,  "I  love 
her." 

"  I  know  you  do,"  replied  Miss  Ludington. 
"  No  one  but  myself  knows  how  you  have  loved 
her.  You  are  the  only  man  in  the  world 
worthy  of  her,  but  you  are  worthy  even  of 
her." 

"  But  she  would  not  marry  me,"  said  Paul. 
"  She  is  very  good  to  me,  but  she  has  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  It  is  I  that  love  her, 
and  she  is  very  good  to  let  me ;  but  she  does 
not  love  me.  How  should  she?" 

"  I  think  she  does,"  said  Miss  Ludington, 
with  a  tone  of  quiet  assurance.  "  I  have  never 
said  anything  to  her  about  it;  but  I  have 
observed  her.  A  woman  can  generally  read  a 
woman  in  that  particular,  and  it  would  be 
especially  strange  if  I  could  not  read  her.  I 
do  not  think  that  you  need  to  be  afraid  of  her 
answer.  I  shall  not  urge  her  by  a  word ;  but  if 
she  is  willing  to  be  your  wife,  it  will  be  by  far 
the  best  way  her  future  could  be  provided  for. 


200  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Then,  however  soon  I  might  die,  she  would 
not  miss  me." 

Paul  had  heard  distinctly  only  her  first 
words,  in  which  she  had  stated  her  belief  that 
Ida  loved  him  and  would  probably  be  his  wife. 
This  intimation  had  set  up  such  a  turmoil  in  his 
brain  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  follow  what 
she  had  subsequently  said.  There  was  a  roar 
ing  in  his  ears.  Her  voice  seemed  to  come 
from  very  far  away,  nor  did  he  remember  how 
long  afterwards  it  was  that  he  left  her. 

As  he  went  downstairs  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room  stood  open,  and  he  looked  in. 
Ida  sat  there  reading. 

The  weather  was  very  warm,  and  her  dress 
was  some  gauzy  stuff  of  a  pale-green  tint  which 
set  off  her  yellow  hair  and  bare  arms  and 
throat  with  sumptuous  effect.  She  was  a  rav 
ishing  symphony  in  white,  pale  green,  and 
gold. 

She  had  not  heard  his  approach,  and  was  un 
conscious  of  his  gaze.  As  he  thought  of  her  as 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2OI 

the  woman  who  might  be  his  wife,  he  grew  so 
faint  with  love,  so  intimidated  with  a  sense  of 
his  presumption  in  hoping  to  possess  this  glo 
rious  creature,  that,  not  daring  to  enter,  he  fled 
out  into  the  darkness  to  compose  himself. 

No  experience  of  miscellaneous  flirtations,  or 
more  or  less  innocent  dalliance,  had' ever  weak 
ened  the  witchery  of  woman's  charms  for  him, 
or  dulled  the  keenness  of  his  sensibility  to  the 
heaven  she  can  bestow.  For  an  hour  he  wan 
dered  about  the  dark  and  silent  village  street, 
waiting  for  the  tumult  of  his  emotions  to  sub 
side  sufficiently  to  leave  him  in  some  degree 
master  of  himself.  When  at  last  he  returned  to 
the  house,  his  nerves  strung  with  the  resolution 
to  put  his  fortune  to  the  test,  Ida  was  still  in 
the  sitting-room  where  he  had  left  her.  . 

Miss  Ludington's  conversation  with  Paul  had 
left  her  in  a  mood  scarcely  less  agitated  than 
his.  The  sensation  with  which  she  had 
watched  his  devotion  to  Ida  during  the  past 
weeks  had  been  a  sort  of  double-consciousness, 


2O2  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

as  if  it  were  herself  whom  Paul  was  wooing, 
although  at  the  same  time  she  was  a  spectator. 
The  thoughts  and  emotions  which  she  ascribed 
to  Ida  agitated  her  almost  as  if  they  had  been 
experienced  in  her  proper  person. 

It  was  a  fancy  of  hers  that  between  herself 
and  Ida  there  existed  a  species  of  clairvoyance, 
which  enabled  her  to  know  what  was  passing 
in  the  latter's  mind,  — a  completeness  of  rapport 
never  realized  between  any  other  two  minds, 
but  nothing  more  than  might  be  expected  to 
attend  such  a  relationship  as  theirs,  being  a 
foretaste  of  the  tie  that  joins  the  several  souls 
of  an  individual  in  heaven.  She  had  never 
had  a  serious  love  affair  in  her  life,  but  now, 
in  her  old  age,  she  was  passing  through  a 
genuine  experience  of  the  tender  passion 
through  her  sympathetic  identification  with 
Ida. 

As  she  sat  in  her  chamber  after  Paul  had 
gone,  fancying  herself  in  Ida's  place,  imagining 
what  she  would  hear  him  say,  what  would 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  203 

be  her  feelings,  and  what  she  would  answer, 
her  cheeks  flushed,  her  breath  came  quickly, 
and  there  was  a  dew  like  that  of  dreaming 
girlhood  in  her  faded  eyes. 

She  was  still  flushing  and  trembling  when 
there  came  a  soft  knock  on  her  door,  and  Paul 
and  Ida  stood  before  her. 

Ida  was  blushing  deeply,  with  downcast  face, 
and  the  long  lashes  hid  her  eyes.  She  stood 
slightly  bending  forward,  her  long  beautifully 
moulded  arms  hanging  straight  down  before 
her.  She  looked  like  a  beautiful  captive,  and 
Paul,  as  he  clasped  her  waist  with  his  arm,  and 
held  one  of  her  hands  in  his,  looked  the  proud 
est  of  conquerors. 

"  I  did  not  know  but  I  might  be  dreaming 
it,"  he  said,  "  and  so  I  brought  her  for  you  to 
see.  She  says  she  will  be  my  wife." 


2O4  MISS  LUDINGTOWS  SISTER. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TT)AUL'S  courtship  of  Ida  really  began  the 
night  when  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
as  his  promised  wife,  for  although  she  had 
called  him  her  lover  before,  his  devotion,  while 
impassioned  enough,  had  been  too  distant  and 
wholly  reverential  to  be  called  a  wooing.  But 
the  night  of  their  betrothal  his  love  had  caught 
from  her  lips  a  fire  that  was  of  earth,  and  it 
was  no  longer  as  a  semi-spiritual  being  that 
he  worshipped  her,  but  as  a  woman  whom 
it  was  no  sacrilege  to  kiss  a  thousand  times  a 
day,  not  upon  her  hand,  her  sleeve,  or  the 
hem  of  her  dress,  but  full  upon  the  soft  warm 
mouth. 

This  transformation  of  the  devotee  into  the 
lover  on  his  part  was  attended  by  a  correspond 
ing  change  in  Ida's  manner  toward  him.  A 
model  relieved  from  a  strained  pose  could  not 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  205 

show  more  evident  relief  than  she  did  in  step 
ping  down  from  the  pedestal  of  a  tutelary 
saint,  where  he  had  placed  her,  to  be  loved 
and  caressed  like  an  ordinary  woman,  for  if 
the  love  had  at  first  been  all  on  his  side,  it 
certainly  was  not  now. 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  she  said  one  day,  "  that  you 
have  done  with  worshipping  me.  Think  of 
your  humbling  yourself  before  me,  you  who 
are  a  hundred  thousand  times  better,  and  wiser, 
and  greater  than  I.  O  Paul !  it  is  I  who  ought 
to  worship  you,  and  who  am  not  good  enough 
to  kiss  you,"  and  before  he  could  prevent  her 
she  had  caught  his  hand,  and,  bowing  her  face 
over  it,  had  kissed  it.  As  he  drew  it  away 
he  felt  that  there  were  tears  upon  it.  It  was 
evening,  and  he  could  not  see  her  face  dis 
tinctly. 

"Darling,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  is  the 
trouble?" 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all!"  she  replied.  "It  is 
because  I  am  in  love,  I  suppose." 


206  MISS  LUDINGTOWS  SISTER. 

Whether  it  was  because  she  was  in  love  or 
not  it  is  certain  that  she  took  to  crying  very 
often  during  these  days.  Her  manner  with  her 
lover,  too,  was  often  strangely  moody.  Some 
times  she  would  display  a  gayety  that  was 
almost  feverish,  and  shortly  after,  perhaps,  he 
would  surprise  her  in  tears.  But  she  always 
declared  that  she  was  not  unhappy ;  and,  unable 
to  conceive  of  any  reason  why  she  should  be, 
Paul  was  fain  to  conclude  that  she  was  merely 
nervous. 

The  absorption  of  the  lovers  in  each  other's 
society  naturally  left  Miss  Ludington  more 
often  alone  than  before ;  but  Ida  was  very  far 
from  neglecting  her  for  her  lover.  Her  care 
for  her  since  her  sickness  was  such  as  a 
daughter  might  give  to  a  beloved  and  invalid 
mother.  It  was  an  attention  such  as  the  lonely 
old  lady  had  never  enjoyed  in  her  life,  or 
looked  for,  and  would  have  been  most  grateful 
to  have  had  from  any  one,  but  how  much 
more  from  Ida! 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2O/ 

The  village  street  was  a  rarely  romantic 
promenade  on  moonlight  evenings,  and  the 
twanging  of  Paul's  guitar  was  often  heard 
till  after  midnight  from  the  meeting-house 
steps,  which  were  a  favorite  resort  with  the 
lovers.  Those  steps,  in  the  Hilton  of  Miss 
Ludington's  girlhood,  had  been  a  very  popular 
locality  with  sentimental  couples,  and  she  well 
remembered  certain  short-lived  romances  of 
Ida's  first  life  on  earth,  with  which  they  had 
been  associated.  One  night,  when  the  young 
people  had  lingered  there  later  than  usual,  Miss 
Ludington  put  on  her  shawl  and  stepped  across 
the  green  to  warn  them  that  it  was  time  for 
even  lovers  to  be  abed. 

As  she  approached,  Paul  was  seated  on  the 
lower  step,  touching  his  guitar,  and  facing  Ida, 
who  sat  on  the  step  above  leaning  back  against 
a  pillar.  A  blotch  of  moonlight  fell  upon  her 
dreamy,  upturned  face.  One  hand  lay  in  her 
lap,  and  the  fingers  of  the  other  were  idly  play 
ing  with  a  tress  of  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her 


208  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

bosom.  How  well  Miss  Ludington  remembered 
that  attitude,  and  even  the  habit  of  playing 
with  her  hair  which  Ida  had  in  the  days  so 
long  gone  by. 

She  stood  in  the  shadow  watching  her  till 
Paul  ceased  playing.  Then  she  advanced  and 
spoke  to  them. 

"  I  have  been  standing  here  looking  at  you, 
my  sister,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  trying  to 
imagine  how  strangely  it  must  come  over  you 
that  forty  years  ago  you  sat  here  as  you  sit 
here  now,  just  as  young  and  beautiful  then  as 
now,  and  Paul  not  then  born,  even  his 
parents  children  at  that  time." 

Ida  bent  down  her  head  and  replied,  in 
scarcely  audible  tones,  "  I  do  not  like  to 
think  of  those  days." 

"And  I  don't  like  to  think  of  them,"  echoed 
Paul,  with  a  curious  sensation  of  jealousy,  not 
the  first  of  the  kind  that  he  had  experienced 
in  imagining  the  former  life  of  his  darling. 
"  I  do  not  like  to  think  who  may  have  sat  at 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2OQ 

her  feet  then.  I,  too,  would  like  to  forget  those 
days." 

Ida  bent  her  head  still  lower  and  said  noth 
ing.  It  was  Miss  Ludington  who  spoke. 

"  You  have  no  ground  to  feel  so,"  she  said.  "  I 
can  bear  her  witness, —  and  what  better  witness 
could  you  have?  —  that  till  now  she  never 
knew  what  it  is  to  love.  It  is  true  she  sat  here 
then  as  now,  and  there  were  others  at  her  feet, 
drawn  by  the  same  beauty  that  has  drawn  you, 
but  their  voices  never  touched  her  heart.  She 
had  to  come  back  again  to  earth  to  learn  what 
love  is." 

Paul  bent  contritely,  and  kissed  Ida's  feet  as 
she  sat  above  him,  murmuring,  "  Forgive  me  !  " 
Her  hand,  sought  his  and  pressed  it  with  con 
vulsive  strength. 

They  walked  home  in  silence,  gentle  Miss 
Ludington  inwardly  reproaching  herself  for  the 
embarrassment  her  words  had  seemed  to  cause 
Ida.  She  examined  her  memory  afresh.  It 
was  very  long  ago  ;  she  was  growing  old,  and  it 


2IO  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

was  natural  to  suppose  that  her  memory  might 
be  losing  its  distinctness.  Perhaps  some  of  the 
sweethearts  of  that  far  away  time  had  been  a 
little  nearer,  a  little  dearer,  to  Ida  than  to  her 
own  fading  memory  they  seemed  to  have 
been.  Perhaps  she  had  done  a  stupid  thing  in 
referring  to  those  days. 

Meanwhile,  despite  of  circumstances  that 
would  seem  peculiarly  favorable  to  a  young 
girl's  happiness,  Ida's  tendency  to  melancholy 
was  increasing  upon  her  at  a  rate  which  began 
to  cause  Miss  Ludington  as  well  as  Paul  serious 
anxiety.  She  had  indeed  been  pensive  from 
the  first,  but  the  expression  of  her  face,  when  in 
repose,  had  of  late  become  one  of  profound 
dejection.  The  shadow  which  they  had  never 
been  able  to  banish  from  her  eyes  had  deepened 
into  a  look  of  habitual  sadness.  Coming 
upon  her  unexpectedly,  both  Miss  Ludington 
and  Paul  had  several  times  found  her  in 
tears,  which  she  would  not  or  could  not 
explain.  Not  infrequently,  when  she  was 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  211 

alone  with  her  lover,  and  they  had  been  silent 
awhile,  he  had  looked  up  to  find  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  him  and  brimming  with  tears,  and  at 
other  times,  when  he  was  in  the  very  act  of 
caressing  her,  she  would  burst  out  crying,  and 
sob  in  his  arms. 

But  her  unaccountable  reluctance  to  consent 
to  any  definite  arrangement  for  her  marriage 
with  the  man  she  tenderly  loved  and  had 
promised  to  wed,  was  the  most  marked 
symptom  of  something  hysterical  in  her  con 
dition. 

Some  three  weeks  had  elapsed  since  she 
had  given  her  word  to  be  Paul's  wife,  but 
though  he  had  repeatedly  begged  her  to  name 
a  day  for  their  wedding,  he  had  entirely  failed 
to  obtain  any  satisfactory  reply.  When  he 
grew  importunate,  the  only  effect  was  to  set  her 
to  crying,  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  He 
was  completely  perplexed.  If  she  did  not  love 
him,  her  conduct  would  be  readily  explainable ; 
but  that  she  was  in  love  with  him,  and  very 


212  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

much  in  love  with  him,  he  had  increasing  evi 
dence  every  day. 

She  gave  nothing  that  could  be  called  a 
reason  for  refusing  to  say  when  she  would 
marry  him,  though  she  talked  feebly  of  its  be 
ing  so  soon,  and  of  not  being  ready;  but  when 
he  reminded  her  of  the  special  considerations 
that  made  delay  inexpedient,  of  her  own 
peculiarly  unprotected  condition,  and  of  Miss 
Ludington's  uncertain  health,  and  desire  to  see 
them  married  as  soon  as  possible,  she  at 
tempted  no  reply,  but  took  refuge  in  tears, 
leaving  him  no  choice  but  to  relinquish  the 
question  and  devote  himself  to  soothing  her. 

When,  finally,  Miss  Ludington  asked  Paul 
what  were  their  plans,  and  he  told  her  of 
Ida's  strange  behavior,  they  took  troubled 
counsel  together  concerning  her. 

It  was  evident  that  she  was  in  a  state  of  high 
nervous  tension,  and  her  conduct  must  be  at 
tributed  to  that.  Nor  was  it  strange  that  the 
experiences  through  which  she  had  passed 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  213 

in  the  last  month  or  two,  supplemented  by  the 
agitations  of  so  extraordinary  a  love  affair, 
should  have  left  her  in  a  condition  of  abnormal 
excitability. 

"  She  must  not  be  hurried,"  said  Miss  Luding- 
ton.  "  She  has  promised  to  be  your  wife,  and 
you  know  that  she  loves  you ;  that  ought 
to  be  enough  to  give  you  patience  to  wait. 
Why,  Paul,  you  loved  her  all  your  life  up  to 
the  last  month  without  even  seeing  her,  and  did 
not  think  the  time  long." 

"You  forget,"  he  replied,  "that  it  is  seeing 
her  which  makes  it  so  hard  to  wait." 

A  day  or  two  later,  when  she  chanced  to  be 
sitting  alone  with  her  in  the  afternoon,  Miss 
Ludington  said :  "  When  are  you  and  Paul  to 
be  married  ?  " 

"It  is  not  decided  yet,"  Ida  replied,  falter- 
ingly. 

"Has  not  Paul  spoken  to  you  about  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  " 

"  I  had   hoped   that   you   would   have  been 


214  MISS  LUDINGTOWS  SISTER. 

married  before  this,"  said  Miss  Ludington, 
after  a  pause.  "You  know  why  I  am  so 
anxious  that  there  should  be  no  delay  in  as 
suring  your  position.  The  time  is  short  I 
know,  but  the  reasons  against  postponement 
are  strong,  and  if  you  love  him  I  cannot  see 
why  you  should  hesitate.  Perhaps  you  are 
not  quite  sure  that  you  do  love  him.  A  girl 
ought  to  be  sure  of  that." 

"  Oh,  I  am  quite  sure  of  that !  I  love  him 
with  all  my  heart,"  exclaimed  Ida,  and  began  to 
cry. 

Miss  Ludington  sat  down  beside  her,  and, 
drawing  the  girl's  head  to  her  shoulder,  tried 
to  sooth  her ;  but  her  gentleness  only  made  Ida 
sob  more  vehemently. 

Presently  the  elder  lady  said,  "  You  are  ner 
vous,  my  little  sister ;  don't  cry,  now.  We  won't 
talk  about  it  any  more.  I  did  not  intend  to 
say  a  word  to  urge  you  against  your  wishes, 
but  only  to  find  out  what  they  were.  You 
shall  wait  as  long  as  you  please  before  marry- 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  21$ 

ing  him,  and  he  shall  not  tease  you.  Mean 
while  I  will  see  to  it  that,  if  I  should  die,  you 
will  be  left  secure  and  well  provided  for,  even 
if  you  never  marry  any  one." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Ida,  raising  her 
head  and  manifesting  a  sudden  interest. 

"I  will  -adopt  you  as  my  daughter,"  said 
Miss  Ludington,  cheerily.  "  Won't  it  be  odd, 
pretending  that  you  are  my  daughter,  and  that 
instead  of  coming  into  the  world  before  me, 
you  came  in  after  me  ?  But  it  is  the  only  way 
by  which  I  can  give  you  a  legal  title  to  the 
name  of  Ida  Ludington,  although  it  is  yours 
already  by  a  claim  prior  to  mine.  I  would 
rather  see  you  Paul's  wife,  and  under  his  pro 
tection,  but  this  arrangement  will  secure  your 
safety.  You  see,  until  you  have  a  legal  name 
I  cannot  make  you  my  heir,  or  even  leave  you 
a  dollar." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  want  to  make  me 
your  heir?"  exclaimed  Ida. 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  Ludington.     "What 


2l6  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

else  could  I  think  of  doing?  Even  if  you  had 
married  Paul,  do  you  suppose  I  would  have 
wished  to  have  you  dependent  on  him?  I 
should  then  have  left  you  a  fortune  under  the 
name  of  Mrs.  De  Riemer.  As  it  is,  I  shall 
leave  it  to  my  adopted  daughter,  Ida  Luding- 
ton.  That  is  the  only  difference." 

"But,  Paul?" 

"  Don't  fret  about  Paul,"  replied  Miss  Luding- 
ton.  "  I  shall  not  neglect  him.  I  have  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  am  able  to  provide 
abundantly  for  you  both." 

"  Oh,  do  not  do  this  thing !  I  beg  you  will 
not,"  cried  Ida,  seizing  Miss  Ludington's  hands, 
and  looking  into  her  face  with  an  almost 
frenzied  expression  of  appeal.  "  I  do  not 
want  your  money.  Don't  give  it  to  me.  I  can't 
bear  to  have  you.  You  have  given  me  so 
much,  and  you  are  so  good  to  me  !  —  and  that  I 
should  rob  Paul,  too !  Oh,  no !  you  must  not 
do  it;  I  will  never  let  you." 

"But,    my   darling,"   said    Miss    Ludington, 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2I/ 

soothingly,  "  think  what  you  are  to  me,  and 
what  I  am  to  you.  Of  course  you  cannot  be 
conscious  of  our  relation,  in  the  absolute  way  I 
am,  through  the  memory  I  have  of  you.  I 
can  only  prove  what  I  am  to  you  by  argument 
and  evidence,  but  surely  I  have  fully  proved  it, 
and  you  must  not  let  yourself  doubt  it;  that 
would  be  most  cruel.  To  whom  should  I  leave 
my  money  if  not  to  you  ?  Are  we  not  nearer 
kin  than  two  persons  ever  were  on  earth 
before?  What  have  been  the  claims  of  all 
other  heirs  since  property  was  inherited  com 
pared  with  yours?  Have  I  not  inherited  from 
you  all  I  am,  —  my  very  personality,  and 
should  not  you  be  my  heir? 

"  And  remember,"  she  went  on,  "  it  is  not 
only  as  my  heir  that  you  have  a  claim  on  me ; 
your  claim  would  be  almost  as  great  if  you 
were  neither  near  nor  dear  to  me.  It  was 
through  my  action  that  you  were  called  back, 
without  any  will  of  your  own,  to  resume  the 
life  which  you  had  once  finished  on  earth.  I 


2. 1 8  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

did  not  intend  or  anticipate  that  result,  to  be 
sure,  but  I  am  not  the  less  responsible  for  it, 
and  being  thus  responsible,  though  you  had 
been  a  stranger  to  me  instead  of  my  other  self, 
I  should  be  under  the  most  solemn  obligation 
to  guard  and  protect  the  life  I  had  imposed 
on  you." 

While  Miss  Ludington  was  speaking  Ida's 
tears  had  ceased  to  flow,  and  she  had  become 
quite  calm.  She  seemed  to  have  been  im 
pressed  by  what  Miss  Ludington  had  said. 
At  least  she  offered  no  further  opposition  to 
the  plan  proposed. 

"  I  am  very  anxious  to  lose  no  time,"  said 
Miss  Ludington,  presently,  "  and  I  think  we 
had  better  drive  into  Brooklyn  the  first  thing 
to-morrow  morning,  and  see  my  lawyer  about 
the  necessary  legal  proceedings." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  said  Ida,  and  presently, 
pleading  a  nervous  headache,  she  went  to  her 
room  and  remained  there  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2IQ 

Meanwhile  Paul  had  seen  Miss  Ludirigton, 
and  she  had  told  him  of  her  talk  with  Ida, 
and  its  result.  The  young  man  was  beside 
himself  with  chagrin,  humiliation,  and  baffled 
love.  The  fact  that  Ida  had  consented  to  the 
plan  of  adoption  showed  beyond  doubt  that 
she  had  given  up  all  idea  of  being  his  wife,  at 
least  for  the  present,  and  possibly  of  ever 
marrying  him  at  all. 

Why  had  she  dealt  with  him  so  strangely? 
Why  had  she  used  him  with  such  cruel 
caprice?  Was  ever  a  man  treated  so  per 
versely  by  a  woman  who  loved  him?  Miss 
Ludington  could  only  shake  her  head  as  he 
poured  out  his  complaints  to  her.  Ida's  con 
tradictory  behavior  was  as  much  a  puzzle  to 
her  as  to  him,  and  she  deplored  it  scarcely 
less.  But  she  insisted  that  he  should  not 
trouble  the  girl  by  demanding  explanations  of 
her,  as  tha?,  by  vexing  her,  would  only  make 
matters  worse. 

If,    indeed,    Paul    had    any    disposition    to 


220  '  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER 

take  the  attitude  of  an  aggrieved  person,  it 
vanished  when  he  met  Ida  at  the  tea-table. 
The  sight  of  her  swollen  eyes  and  red  lids, 
and  the  piteous  looks  of  deprecating  ten 
derness  which  from  time  to  time  she  bent  on 
him,  left  room  for  nothing  in  his  heart  but  a 
great  love  and  compassion.  Whatever  might 
be  the  secret  of  this  strange  caprice  it  was 
evidently  no  mere  piece  of  wantonness.  She 
was  suffering  from  it  as  much  as  he. 

He  tried  to  get  a  chance  to  talk  with  her ; 
but  Miss  Ludington,  feeling  slightly  ill,  went 
to  her  room  directly  after  tea,  and  Ida  ac 
companied  her  to  see  that  she  was  properly 
cared  for,  and  got  comfortably  to  bed.  After 
waiting  a  long  while  for  her  to  come  down 
stairs,  Paul  concluded  that  she  did  not  intend 
to  appear  again,  and  went  off  for  a  walk,  in 
the  hope  thereby  of  regaining  something  of 
his  equanimity. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  he  returned 
home.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house  he 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  221 

saw  by  the  light  reflected  from  the  sitting- 
room  windows  that  there  was  some  one  upon 
the  piazza..  As  he  came  nearer  he  perceived 
that  it  was  Ida.  She  was  sitting  sidewise 
upon  a  long,  cane-bottomed  settee,  and  her 
arms  were  thrown  upon  the  back  of  it  to  form 
a  sort  of  pillow  on  which  her  head  rested. 
His  tread  upon  the  turf  was  inaudible,  and 
she  neither  saw  nor  heard  him  as  he  ap 
proached,  nor  when,  softly  mounting  the  steps, 
he  stood  over  her. 

She  was  indeed  sobbing  with  such  violence 
that  she  could  not  have  been  easily  sensible 
of  anything  external.  Paul  had  never  heard 
such  piteous  weeping.  He  had  never  seen 
much  of  women's  crying,  and  he  did  not  know 
what  abandonment  of  grief  their  tender  frames 
can  sustain,  —  grief  that  seemingly  would  kill  a 
man  if  he  could  feel  it.  Long,  gurgling  sobs 
followed  one  another  as  the  waves  of  the  sea 
sweep  over  the  head  of  a  strangling  swimmer. 
Every  now  and  then  they  were  interrupted 


222  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

by  sharp  cries  of  exquisite  anguish,  such  as 
might  be  wrung  out  by  the  sudden  twist  of  a 
rack,  and  then  would  come  a  low,  shrill  croon 
ing  sound,  almost  musical,  beyond  which  it 
seemed  grief  could  not  go. 

The  violence  of  the  paroxysm  would  pass, 
and  she  would  grow  calmer,  drawing  long,  shud 
dering  breaths  as  she  struggled  back  to  self- 
control.  Then  a  quick  panting  would  begin 
and  grow  faster  and  faster,  till  another  burst 
of  sobs  shook  her  like  a  leaf  in  the  storm. 

In  very  awe  of  such  great  grief  Paul  stood 
awhile  silently  over  her,  the  tears  filling  his  own 
eyes  and  running  down  his  cheeks  unheeded. 
She  had  wept  something  like  this,  though 
nothing  like  so  long  or  so  bitterly,  on  former 
occasions,  when  he  had  urged  her  with  special 
vehemence  to  fix  a  day  when  she  would  fulfil 
her  promise  to  be  his  wife. 

Now,  as  he  pondered  the  piteous  spectacle 
before  him,  the  thought  came  over  him  that  his 
first  reverential  instinct  concerning  her,  that  de- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  22$ 

spite  her  resumption  of  a  mortal  form  she  was 
something  more  than  mortal,  was  true,  and  that 
he  had  done  wrong  in  so  far  forgetting  it  as  to 
urge  her  to  be  his  wife  as  if  she  were  merely  a 
woman  like  others.  She  herself  did  not  know 
it,  but  surely  this  exceeding  cruel  crying  was 
nothing  else  but  the  conflict  between  the  love  of 
the  woman  which  went  out  to  her  earthly  lover, 
and  would  fain  make  him  happy,  and  the 
nature  of  the  inhabitant  of  heaven,  where  there 
is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage. 
This  was  the  key  to  her  inexplicable  sorrow 
during  the  past  weeks.  This  explained  why, 
though  she  loved  him  so  tenderly,  the  thought 
of  becoming  his  wife  was  so  intolerable  to 
her. 

So  be  it.  Her  nature  could  not  sink  to  his, 
but  his  should  rise  to  hers.  This  brief  dream 
of  earthly  passion  must  pass.  Better  a  thou 
sand  times  that  he  should  be  disappointed  in  all 
that  is  dear  to  the  heart  of  a  man,  than  that  he 
should  grieve  her  thus.  In  that  moment  it  did 


224  MISS  LUDING TON'S  SISTER. 

not  seem  hard  to  him  to  sacrifice  the  hopes  of 
the  man  to  the  devotion  of  the  lover.  By  one 
great  effort  he  rose  again  to  the  level  of  the  as 
cetic  passion  that  had  glorified  his  life  up  to 
these  last  delirious  weeks.  She  had  brought 
heaven  to  earth  for  him,  but  it  should  still  be 
heaven,  since  her  happiness  demanded  it. 

And  having  reasoned  thus,  at  last,  for  there 
seemed  no  end  of  her  weeping,  or  any  diminu 
tion  of  its  bitterness,  he  touched  her.  She 
started,  and  turned  her  streaming  eyes  to  him, 
then,  seeing  who  it  was,  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  and,  as  he  sat  beside  her,  laid  her 
head  on  his  shoulder,  clinging  to  him  convul 
sively. 

"You  don't  believe  I  love  you,  Paul;  and 
I  can't  blame  you  for  it,  I  can't  blame  you,"  she 
sobbed ;  «  but  I  do,  oh,  I  do  !  " 

"I  do  believe  it.  I  know  it,"  he  said- 
"  Don't  think  that  I  doubt  it,  and  don't  cry 
now,  for  after  this  your  love  shall  be  enough 
for  me.  I  will  not  trouble  you  any  more  with 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  22$ 

importunings  to  be  my  wife.  I  have  been 
very  cruel  to  you." 

"  It  is  because  I  love  you  that  I  will  not 
marry  you,"  she  sobbed.  "Promise  me  you 
will  never  doubt  that.  Don't  ask  me  to  ex 
plain  to  you  why  it  is ;  only  believe  me." 

"  I  think  I  understand  why  it  is  already,"  he 
replied,  gently.  "  I  was  very  dull  not  to  know 
before.  If  I  had  known,  I  should  not  have 
caused  you  so  much  grief." 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder. 

"What  is  it  that  you  know?"  she  asked, 
quickly. 

He  thereupon  proceeded  to  tell  her,  in  ten- 
derest  words  of  reverence,  what,  in  his  opinion, 
was  the  mystical  cause,  unsuspected,  perhaps, 
even  by  herself,  of  her  unconquerable  repug 
nance  to  the  idea  of  being  his  wife,  truly  as  he 
knew  she  loved  him.  He  blamed  himself  that 
he  had  not  recognized  the  sacred  instinct  which 
had  held  her  back,  but  in  his  selfish  blindness 
had  gone  on  urging  her  to  do  violence  to  her 


226  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

nature.  Now  that  his  eyes  were  opened  he 
would  not  grieve  her  any  more.  Her  love 
alone  should  satisfy  and  bless  him.  Earthly 
passion  should  no  more  vex  her  serenity. 

When  he  first  began  to  speak  she  had  re 
garded  him  with  evident  astonishment.  As 
the  meaning  of  his  words  became  clear  to 
her,  she  had  turned  her  face  away  from  him 
and  covered  it  with  both  her  hands,  as  a  person 
does  under  an  overpowering  sense  of  shame. 
She  did  not  remove  them  until  he  had  finished, 
when  she  rose  abruptly. 

Light  enough  came  from  the  windows  behind 
them  for  him  to  see  that  her  cheeks  and  fore 
head  were  crimson. 

"  I  think  I  may  as  well  go  now,"  she  said. 
"  Good-by,"  and  in  another  moment  he  found 
himself  alone,  not  a  little  astonished  at  the 
suddenness  of  her  departure. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  22/ 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

IDA  passed  with  a  quick  step  through  the 
sitting-room  and  upstairs  to  her  bedroom, 
where  she  locked  the  door  and  threw  her 
self  upon  the  bed  in  a  paroxysm  of  tearless 
sobbing. 

"  I  believe  I  have  no  more  tears  left,"  she 
whispered,  as  at  last  she  raised  herself  and 
arranged  her  dishevelled  hair. 

She  sat  awhile  in  woful  revery  upon  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  and  then  crossed  the  room  to  a 
beautiful  writing-desk  which  Miss  Ludington 
had  given  her.  She  opened  it,  and,  taking  out 
several  sheets  of  paper,  prepared  to  write. 
"  If  I  had  not  run  upstairs  that  moment,"  she 
murmured,  "  I  must  have  told  him  the  whole 
horrible  story.  But  it  is  better  this  way. 
I  believe  it  would  have  killed  me  to'  see  the 
look  on  his  face.  O  my  darling,  my  darling! 


228  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

what  will  you  think  of  me  when  you  know?" 
and  then  she  sat  down  to  write. 

She  stopped  so  many  times  to  cry  over  it 
that  it  was  midnight  when  the  writing  was 
finished.  It  was  a  letter,  and  the  superscrip 
tion  read  as  follows :  — 

To  my  lover,  Paul,  who  will  never  love  me  any  more 
after  he  reads  this,  but  whom  I  shall  love  forever :  — 

This  letter  will  explain  to  you  why  my  room  is  empty 
this  morning.  I  could  stand  it  no  longer :  to  be  loved, 
and  almost  worshipped,  by  those  whom  I  was  basely 
deceiving.  And  so  I  have  fled.  You  will  never  see  me 
or  hear  from  me  again,  and  you  will  never  want  to  after 
you  have  read  this  letter.  All  the  jewelry  and  dresses, 
and  everything  that  Miss  Ludington  has  given  me,  I  have 
left  behind,  except  the  clothes  I  had  to  have  to  go  away 
in,  and  these  I  will  return  as  soon  as  I  get  where  I  am 
going.  O  my  poor  Paul !  I  am  no  more  Ida  Ludington 
than  you  are.  How  could  you  ever  believe  such  a  thing? 
But  let  me  tell  my  shameful  story  in  order.  Perhaps  it 
was  not  so  strange  that  you  were  deceived.  I  think  any 
one  might  have  been  who  held  the  belief  you  did  at  the 
outset. 

I  am   Ida  Slater,  Mrs.  Slater's   daughter,  whom  she 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  22$ 

named  after  Miss  Ludington,  because  she  thought  her 
name  so  pretty  when  they  went  to  school  together  as 
children  in  Hilton.  I  was  born  in  Hilton  twenty-three 
years  ago,  several  years  after  Miss  Ludington  left  the 
village.  My  father  is  Mr.  Slater,  of  course,  but  he  is 
the  person  you  know  as  Dr.  Hull,  which  is  an  assumed 
name.  Mrs.  Legrand,  who  is  no  more  dead  than  you 
are,  is  a  sister  of  my  father.  Her  husband  is  dead,  and 
father  acts  as  her  manager,  and  mother  helps  about  the 
seances,  and  does  what  she  can  in  any  way  to  bring  in 
a  little  money.  We  have  always  been  very  poor,  and 
it  has  been  very,  very  hard  for  us  to  get  a  living.  Father 
is  a  man  of  education,  and  had  tried  many  things  before 
we  came  to  this,  but  nothing  succeeded.  We  grew 
poorer  and  poorer,  and  when  this  business  came  in  our 
way  he  had  to  take  up  with  it,  or  send  us  to  the  alms- 
house.  It  is  not  an  honest  business,  at  least  as  we  con 
ducted  it ;  but,  O  Paul !  none  of  you  that  are  rich  under 
stand  that  to  a  very  poor  man  the  duty  of  supporting  his 
family  seems  sometimes  as  if  it  were  the  only  duty  in  the 
world. 

Well,  when  mother  came  to  visit  Miss  Ludington,  and 
saw  that  picture  which  is  so  much  like  me,  and  so  little, 
mother  says,  like  what  Miss  Ludington  ever  was,  and 
when  she  found  out  about  your  belief  in  the  immortality 
of  past  selves,  the  idea  first  came  to  her  of  deceiving  you. 


230  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

That  story  of  mother's  going  to  Cincinnati  was  a  lie, 
to  prevent  your  suspecting  that  she  had  anything  to  do 
with  the  business.  Mrs.  Rhinehart  is  an  imaginary 
person.  At  first,  the  idea  was  only  to  get  you  interested 
in  the  seances,  for  the  profit  of  the  fees ;  but  when  they 
saw  how  entirely  deceived  you  were  by  my  resemblance 
to  the  picture,  the  scheme  of  getting  me  into  this  house 
occurred  to  them. 

Or  rather  it  did  not  occur  to  them  at  all.  It  was  you, 
Paul,  yourself,  who  suggested  it,  when  you  said  that  night 
after  the  first  seance,  that  if  a  medium  died  in  a  trance, 
you  believed  the  materialized  spirit  could  not  demateri- 
alize  but  would  return  to  earth.  But  for  that  the  idea 
would  never  have  occurred  to  them. 

It  seemed  a  daring  plot,  but  many  things  favored  it. 
I  had  lived  in  Hilton  up  to  within  a  few  years,  and  knew 
every  stick  and  stone  of  the  old  as  well  as  the  new  part 
of  the  village.  I  had  wandered  all  over  the  old  Ludington 
homestead  time  and  again.  Mother  knew  as  much  about 
Miss  Ludington's  early  life  as  she  did  herself,  and  could 
post  me  on  the  subject,  and  there  was  my  wonderful 
resemblance  to  the  picture,  which,  of  itself,  would  be 
almost  enough  to  carry  me  through. 

It  was  for  my  sake  entirely  that  they  proposed  this 
scheme.  My  father  and  mother  may  be  looked  down  upon 
by  the  world  as  a  very  poor  kind  of  people,  but  they  have 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  231 

always  been  very  good  to  me.  I  will  not  have  you 
blame  them  except  as  you  blame  me  with  them.  They 
thought  that  in  this  way  I  could  be  rescued  from  the  hard 
and  questionable  life  which  they  were  living,  and  in  which 
they  did  not  wish  me  to  grow  up.  If  the  plan  succeeded, 
and  you  were  deceived  and  took  me  here,  thinking  me 
the  true  Ida,  they  believed  that  I  would  be  secured  a  life 
of  happiness  and  luxury.  They  had  seen,  too,  how  you 
were  in  love  with  the  true  Ida,  and  made  no  question  that 
you  would  love  me  and  marry  me. 

It  was  that  more  than  all,  Paul,  that  decided  me  to  do 
it.  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  you  that  night  of  the  first 
seance  when  I  stood  before  you  and  you  looked  at  me  with 
such  boundless,  adoring  love.  I  think  it  would  have 
turned  almost  any  girl's  head  to  be  looked  at  in  that  way. 
And  then,  Paul,  you  are  very  handsome. 

I  always  had  a  taste  for  acting.  They  used  to  say  I 
would  have  done  well  on  the  stage,  and  the  idea  of  play 
ing  a  r61e  so  fine  and  so  bold  as  this  took  my  fancy  from 
the  start.  It  was  that,  Paul,  that,  and  the  notion  of  your 
making  love  to  me,  more  than  any  thought  of  the  wealth 
and  luxury  I  might  get  a  share  in,  which  made  me  consent 
to  the  plan. 

That  sickness  of  Mrs.  Legrand's  between  the  seances  — 
I  am  telling  you  all,  Paul  —  was  only  a  sham,  so  that  we 
might  see  how  much  in  earnest  you  were,  and  to  get  time 


232  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

for  me  to  learn  by  heart  all  mother  could  teach  me  about 
the  Hilton  of  forty  years  ago  and  Miss  Ludington's 
girlhood.  There  were  so  many  lists  of  names  to  be  kept 
in  mind,  and  school-room  incidents,  picnics,  and  flirta 
tions  ;  but  it  was  as  interesting  as  a  romance,  and  being  a 
Hilton  girl,  it  did  not  take  me  long  to  make  myself  as 
much  at  home  with  the  last  generation  as  with  my  own. 
Sometimes  mother  would  say  to  me,  "  Ida,  if  I  did  not 
know  that  you  are  a  good  girl,  and  would  be  good 
to  Miss  Ludington,  I  would  not  betray  my  old  friend 
this  way.  I  would  not  do  it  for  any  one  but  you,  and 
J  if  I  did  not  believe  that  in  deceiving  her  you  would 
make  her  very  happy  —  far  happier  than  now." 

I  think,  in  spite  of  all,  she  was  very  fond  of  Miss 
Ludington,  for  she  made  me  promise,.  ag£in  and  again, 
that  I  would  be  very  good  to  her,  as  if  I  could  have  helped 
being  good  to  such  a  gentle,  tender-hearted  person  as  she. 

You  see,  in  our  business,  we  had  shown  to  so  many  sad 
people  what  they  believed  to  be  the  forms  and  faces  of 
their  dead  friends,  and  had  sent  them  away  comforted, 
that  we  had  come  to  feel  our  frauds  condoned  by  the 
happiness  they  caused,  and  that  we  were,  after  all,  doing 
good. 

As  for  you,  Paul,  mother  had  no  scruples.  She  said  that 
I  was  a  good  girl,  and  any  man  was  lucky  to  get  me.  I 
was  not  sure  of  that,  but  I  knew  that  any  girl  would  be 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  233 

fortunate  whom  you  loved.  She  had  a  dress  cut  for  me  in 
the  exact  pattern  of  that  in  the  picture,  —  a  very  old-fash 
ioned  pattern,  but  very  becoming  to  me,  and  all  was 
ready.  You  know  the  rest. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  the  reason  the  dress  all  fell  to  pieces 
the  day  after  I  came  here  was  that  it  had  been  treated 
with  a  chemical  preparation,  which  had  completely  rotted 
the  texture  of  the  cloth.  Indeed,  I  had  trouble  to  keep 
it  together  that  first  night.  Father  saw  to  this  part.  He 
understands  chemistry,  and,  indeed,  everything  else  ex 
cept  how  to  make  a  living. 

There  was  no  trap-door  in  the  floor  in  Tenth  street,  but 
the  whole  ceiling  of  the  cabinet  was  a  trap-door,  the  edges 
hidden  by  the  breadth  of  the  boards  forming  the  partition 
which  enclosed  it.  It  rose  on  oiled  hinges,  with  a  pulley 
and  a  counter  weight,  at  a  touch  of  a  finger,  and  the 
person  who  was  to  appear,  unless  it  was  a  part  that  the 
medium  herself  could  take,  descended  in  an  instant  by 
letting  down  a  short  light  ladder,  wrapped  in  cloth,  so  as 
to  make  no  sound.  The  draught  of  air  just  before  the 
appearance,  which  Miss  Ludington  has  spoken  of  in  her 
talks  with  me,  was  something  that  we  never  thought  of, 
and  was  caused,  I  suppose,  by  the  drawing  of  the  air  up 
through  the  raised  ceiling. 

It  was  all  so  easy,  so  easy ;  we  need  not  have  taken  half 
the  precautions  we  did,  you  were  so  absolutely  convinced 


234  MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER. 

from  the  first  moment  that  I  was  the  Ida  of  the  picture. 
From  the  time  I  came  home  with  you  that  night  till  now 
there  has  been  no  question  of  my  proving  who  I  was,  but 
only  of  Miss  Ludington's  proving,  and  of  your  proving,  to 
me,  that  you  were  the  persons  you  claimed  to  be.  It  was 
not  whether  I  was  related  to  her,  but  only  that  she  was 
related  to  me,  which  Miss  Ludington  thought  in  any  need 
of  demonstration. 

And  as  for  you,  Paul,  it  is  not  your  fault  that  I  was  not 
your  wife  weeks  ago. 

And  so  I  should  have  been,  and  Miss  Ludington's  heir, 
besides,  but  for  two  particulars  in  which  our  plot  was 
fatally  defective.  It  provided  for  all  other  contingencies, 
but  made  no  allowance  for  the  possibilities  that  I  might 
prove  capable  of  gratitude  toward  Miss  Ludington, 
and  that  I  might  fall  in  love  with  you.  Both  these  things 
have  happened  to  me,  and  there  is  no  choice  left  me  but  to 
fly  in  the  night.  Of  course  I  had  expected  you  to  fall  in 
love  with  me,  and  I  had  fancied  you  so  much,  after  seeing 
you  the  first  time,  as  to  feel  that  it  would  be  very  fine  to 
have  you  for  a  lover,  and  even  for  a  husband.  But  that 
was  not  really  love  at  all.  I  think  if  you  could  understand 
even  a  little  what  dismay  came  over  me  when  I  first 
realized  that  my  heart  was  yours,  you  would  almost  pity 
me.  After  that,  to  deceive  you  was  torture  Lo  me,  and 
yet,  to  tell  you  the  truth  would  have  been  to  make  you 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  235 

loath  me  like  a  snake.  O  Paul !  think  of  what  I  have 
suffered  these  past  weeks,  and  pity  me  a  little ! 
•  You  will  understand  now  why  it  was  that  I  could  not 
bear  to  have  the  circumstances  of  the  fraud  we  had  prac 
tised  on  you  alluded  to  in  my  presence,  and  why,  after 
the  first  few  days,  I  never  spoke  of  them  myself. 

When  father,  whom  you  know  as  Dr.  Hull,  came  that 
day  to  see  how  the  plot  was  succeeding,  I  thought  I 
should  die  with  shame.  He  tried  to  catch  my  eye,  and  to 
get  a  chance  to  speak  with  me,  but  I  avoided  him.  He 
must  have  gone  away  very  much  puzzled  by  my  conduct, 
for  it  had  been  arranged  between  us  that  he  should  come. 
By  that  time,  you  see,  I  had  become  heart-sick  of  the 
part  I  was  playing. 

But,  Paul,  you  must  not  think  that  it  was  mere  sham, 
father's  drawing  you  out  so  much  to  talk  at  the  table  that 
night,  and  pretending  to  be  so  much  taken  up  with  what 
you  said.  He  is  great  for  being  taken  up  with  new 
ideas,  and  I  think  his  interest  was  quite  genuine.  I 
knew  before  I  left  home  that  he  half  believed  you  to  be 
right  about  the  immortality  of  past  selves.  For  my  part,  I 
believe  it  wholly,  and  that  I  have  abused  not  only  Miss 
Ludington  and  you,  but  the  spirit  of  her  whom  I  have 
personated. 

If  Miss  Ludington  had  not  so  loaded  me  with  kindness 
I  could  have  borne  it  better,  but  to  have  that  sweet  old 


236  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

lady  fairly  worshipping  the  ground  one  trod  on,  and  cover 
ing  one  with  gifts,  and  dresses,  and  jewels,  would  have 
been  too  much,  I  think,  for  the  conscience  of  the  worst 
person  in  the  world. 

I  should  have  fled  from  the  house  before  I  had  been 
here  a  week  but  for  you,  Paul.  I  could  not  bear  to  leave 
you.  If  I  had  only  gone  then  I  should  have  saved  myself 
much  ;  for  what  would  it  have  been  to  leave  you  then  to 
what  it  is  now  ! 

It  was  very  wrong  in  me  to  promise  to  marry  you  that 
night  when  you  came  to  me ;  for  I  knew  then  as  well  as 
now  that  I  never  could.  But  I  loved  you  so,  I  had  no 
strength.  Oh,  these  last  happy  weeks !  I  wonder  if  you 
have  been  so  happy  as  I, — so  happy  or  so  miserable,  I 
don't  know  which  to  say;  for  all  the  time  there  was  a 
deadly  sickness  at  my  heart,  and  every  night  I  cried  my 
self  to  sleep,  and  woke  up  crying;  and  yet  I  loved  you  so 
I  could  not  but  be  happy  in  being  where  you  were.  Re 
member  always,  Paul,  that  if  I  had  not  loved  you  so,  I 
should  have  let  you  marry  an  adventuress ;  for  that  is 
what  I  suppose  you  will  call  me  now,  —  you,  who  could 
not  find  words  tender  enough  for  me.  Yes,  if  I  had  loved 
you  less,  I  would  have  been  your  wife,  and  I  would  have 
made  you  very  happy,  just  as  we  made  so  many  poor 
people  happy  at  our  seances, — by  deceiving  them.  But 
I  could  not  deceive  you. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  237 

It  is  true  that  I  have  been  meanwhile  deceiving  you,  but 
it  has  only  been  from  day  to  day.  I  knew  it  was  not  to 
last,  and  I  lacked  strength  to  end  it  sooner.  Think  how 
dear  your  kisses  must  have  been  to  me,  that  I  could  en 
dure  them  with  the  knowledge  all  the  while  that  if  you 
knew  whom  you  were  kissing,  you  would  spurn  me  with 
your  foot. 

As  soon  as  you  began  to  urge  me  to  name  a  day  for  our 
marriage  I  knew  that  the  end  was  near.  You  wondered 
why  I  cried  so  whenever  you  spoke  of  it.  You  know  now. 
To-day  Miss  Ludington  told  me  that  she  intended  to 
adopt  me  and  leave  me  her  fortune,  so  that  I  need  feei 
under  no  necessity  to  marry  you  if  I  did  not  wish  to. 
Think  of  that,  Paul !  Can  you  conceive  of  any  one  so 
low,  so  base,  as  to  be  capable  of  taking  advantage  of  such 
a  heart  ?  As  she  was  talking  to  me,  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  must  go  to-night. 

This  evening,  when  I  was  helping  her  to  bed  (I  have 
been  so  glad  to  do  all  I  could  for  her;  it  took  away  a 
little  of  my  shame  to  see  how  happy  I  made  her)  she 
seemed  so  troubled  because  I  could  not  keep  my  tears 
from  falling.  When  you  read  her  this,  she  will  think  her 
sympathy  wasted.  And  yet  she  will  not  think  hard  of 
me.  She  could  not  think  hard  of  any  one,  and  I  am  sure 
I  love  her  dearly,  and  always  shall. 

O  Paul,  my  darling,  do  not  despise  me  utterly !    My 


238  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

love  was  pure;  it  was  as  pure  as  any  one's  could  be, 
though  I  have  been  so  bad.  I  think  my  heart  was  break 
ing  when  you  found  me  crying  on  the  piazza  to-night.  It 
was  not  only  that  I  must  leave  you,  and  never  look  on 
your  face  again,  but  that  I  must  give  over  my  memory  to 
your  scorn  and  loathing.  When  you  took  me  in  your 
arms  and  comforted  me,  my  resolution  all  gave  way,  and 
I  felt  that  I  would  not,  could  not  go.  I  think  I  was  on  the 
point  of  throwing  myself  at  your  feet  and  confessing  all, 
and  begging  to  be  taken  as  the  lowest  servant  in  the 
house,  so  that  I  might  be  near  you. 

And  then  it  was  that  you  began  to  explain  to  me  that, 
although  I  might  not  be  aware  of  it,  the  reason  that  1 
would  not  be  your  wife  was  that,  having  come  from  heaven, 
my  nature  was  purer  than  that  of  earthly  women,  and 
shrank  from  marriage  as  a  sacrilege. 

Think  of  your  saying  that  to  me  ! 

When  I  comprehended  you,  and  saw  that  you  actually 
believed  what  you  said,  I  realized  the  folly  of  imagining 
that  you  could  ever  pardon  me  for  what  I  had  done,  or 
that  the  gulf  between  what  I  was  and  what  you  thought 
me  to  be  could  ever  be  bridged.  So  it  was  that  you  your 
self  gave  me  back  the  resolution  and  the  strength  to  leave 
you  which  went  from  me  when  I  was  in  your  arms.  I  was 
overcome  with  such  shame  and  self-contempt  that  I  could 
not  even  kiss  you  as  I  left  you  forever. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  239 

I  have  told  you  ray  whole  story,  Paul,  that  you  may 
know  not  alone  how  black  my  deception  was,  but  how 
bitterly  I  have  expiated  it.  I  came  into  this  house  a 
frivolous  girl;  I  leave  it  a  broken-hearted  woman.  Do 
not  blame  me  too  harshly.  It  is  myself  that  I  have  in 
jured  most.  I  leave  you  as  well  off  as  before  you  saw  me ; 
free  to  return  to  your  spirit-love.  She  will  forgive  you. 
It  is  my  only  consolation  that  she  is  but  a  spirit-love.  If 
she  were  a  woman  I  could  never  have  given  you  up  to  her. 
Never!  O  Paul !  if  I  could  only  hope  that  you  would  not 
wholly  despise  me,  that  you  would  think  sometimes  a 
little  pitifully  of 

IDA  SLATER. 

She  next  wrote  a  note  to  Miss  Ludington, 
full  of  contrition  and  tenderness,  and  referring 
her  to  Paul's  letter  for  the  whole  story.  It  was 
after  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  she 
finished  the  second  letter,  and  laid  it  in  plain 
view  beside  the  other.  She  next  removed  her 
jewels  and  exchanged  her  rich  costume  for  the 
simplest  in  her  wardrobe,  and  having  donned 
cloak  and  hat,  extinguished  the  light,  and  softly 
unlocking  the  door,  stepped  into  the  hall. 


240  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Perfect  silence  reigned  in  the  house.  As 
she  stood  listening  the  clock  in  the  sitting- 
room  struck  three.  There  was  no  time  to  lose. 
The  early  summer  dawn  would  soon  arrive, 
and  before  the  first  servants  or  neighbors  were 
stirring  she  must  be  outside  the  grounds  and 
well  on  her  way. 

There  was  a  late  risen  moon,  and  enough 
light  penetrated  the  house  to  enable  her  to 
make  her  way  without  difficulty.  As  she 
passed  Paul's  door  she  stopped  and  stood 
leaning  her  forehead  against  the  casement  for 
some  minutes.  At  last  she  knelt  and  pressed 
her  lips  to  the  threshold,  and,  choking  down  a 
sob,  went  on  down  the  stairs.  As  she  passed 
through  the  sitting-room  she  paused  a  moment 
before  the  picture.  "  Forgive  me,"  she  whis 
pered,  looking  up  at  the  dimly  visible  face  of 
Ida  Ludington,  and  passed  on.  Unfastening  a 
window  that  opened  upon  the  piazza,  she 
stepped  forth  and  closed  it  behind  her. 

At  the  first   light   sound    of  her   feet   upon 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  .SISTER.  241 

the  walk,  the  mastiff  that  guarded  the  house 
bounded  up  to  her,  and,  seeing  who  it  was, 
licked  her  hand.  The  big  beast  had  fallen  in 
love  with  her  on  her  first  arrival,  and  been  her 
devoted  attendant  ever  since.  She  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  walk  and  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  wetting  his  shaggy  coat  with 
her  tears.  Here  was  a  friend  who  would  know 
no  difference  between  Ida  Slater  and  Ida 
Ludington.  Here  was  one  who  loved  her  for 
herself. 

Presently  she  rose,  dried  her  eyes,  and 
went  on  down  the  street,  the  dog  trotting 
contentedly  behind  her.  As  she  came  to  a 
point  beyond  which  the  trees  cut  off  the  view 
of  the  house,  she  stood  still,  gazing  back  at  it 
for  a  long  time.  Finally,  with  a  gesture  of 
renunciation,  she  turned  and  passed  swiftly 
out  of  sight. 


242  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

TT  was  Miss  Ludington  herself  who,  stirring 
•*•  unusually  early,  discovered  Ida's  flight  on 
going  to  her  room. 

Paul  opened  his  eyes  a  few  minutes  later  to 
see  her  standing  by  his  bedside,  the  picture  of 
consternation. 

"  She  is  gone  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Who  is  gone?"  he  asked,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"  Ida  has  gone.     Her  room  is  empty." 

Hastily  dressing,  he  rejoined  her  in  Ida's 
chamber,  and  together  they  went  over  the 
letters  she  had  left. 

If  the  revelation  which  they  contained  had 
been  made  when  she  had  been  in  the 
house  a  shorter  time,  its  effect  might  have 
been  very  different.  But  it  had  come  too 
late  to  produce  the  revulsion  of  feeling  it 
might  then  have  caused.  True,  it  was  under  a 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  243 

false  name  that  she  had  first  won  their  confi 
dence,  but  it  was  the  girl  herself  whom  they  / 
had   learned    to    l©ve.      If    her  name   proved 
to  be  Ida  Slater,  why,  it  was  Ida  Slater  whom 
they  loved.     It  was  the  person,  not  the  name,.J 

"  Oh,  why  did  she  leave  us !  "  cried  Miss 
Ludington,  with  streaming  eyes,  as  she  finished 
Ida's  letter  to  Paul.  "Why  did  she  not 
come  to  us  and  tell  us !  We  would  have 
forgiven  her.  She  was  not  so  much  to  blame 
as  her  parents.  How  can  we  blame  her  when 
we  think  how  happy  she  has  made  us !  O 
Paul !  we  must  find  her.  We  must  bring  her 
back." 

He  pressed  her  hand  in  silence.  His 
darling,  his  heart's  love,  had  gone  away  from 
him,  out  into  the  world,  and  he  knew  not  where 
to  find  her,  and  yet  it  would  be  hard  to  say 
whether  there  was  not  more  of  exultation  than 
of  despair  in  the  mingled  emotions  which  just 
then  deprived  him  of  the  power  of  speech. 

He   had   comprehended   perfectly    well   her 


244  MISS  LUDWGTOIFS  SISTER. 

confession  of  the  deception  which  she  had 
practised  on  them,  but  the  portion  of  her  letter 
which  had  chiefly  affected  him  had  been  the 

nmpassioned  avowal  of  her  love  for  him.  After 
lis  recent  trying  ordeal  in  striving  to  subject  an 
earthly  love  to  spiritual  conditions,  culminating 
the  night  before  in  the  renunciation  of  the  hope 
of  ever  marrying  her  at  all,  there  was  an  intoxi 
cating  happiness  in  the  discovery  that  she  was 
every  whit  as  earthly  as  he,  and  loved  him  with 
a  passion  as  ardent  as  his  own.  He  was  a 
Pygmalion,  whose  statue  had  become  a  woman. 
For  the  first  time  he  now  realized  how  far  his 
heart  had  travelled  from  the  spirit-love  which 
once  had  been  enough  for  it,  and  how  impos 
sible  it  was  that  it  should  ever  again  find  satis 
faction  in  the  dim  and  nebulous  emotion  in 
which  it  had  so  long  rested.  With  a  sense  of 
recreancy  that  was  wholly  shameless,  he  real- 

i  ized   that  it   was   no    longer   Ida    Ludington, 

1  but  Ida  Slater,  whom  he  loved. 

Little    did   the    forlorn    girl,    in    her    self- 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  245 

imposed  exile,  imagine  what  a  welcome  would 
have  met  her  if,  moved  by  some  intuition,  she 
had  retraced  her  steps  that  morning  to  the 
chamber  which  a  few  hours  before  she  had 
deserted. 

Repentance  often  is  so  fine  that  in  the  moral 
balance  it  quite  outweighs  the  fault  repented  of, 
and  so  it  was  in  her  case.  Such  repentance  is 
as  if  the  black  stalk  of  sin  had  blossomed  and 
put  forth  a  fragrant  flower. 

These  two  persons,  whom  she  had  expected 
to  loath  her  as  soon  as  they  should  know  the 
truth,  had  "from  the  first  reading  of  her  story 
been  more  impressed  with  the  chivalrous 
instinct  which  had  driven  her  to  abandon  her 
r6le  of  fraud  when  it  was  about  to  be  crowned 
with  dazzling  success,  than  with  her  original 
offence  in  entering  upon  it.  The  effect  of  her 
story  was  in  this  respect  a  curious  one  for  a 
confession  to  produce:  it  had  added  to  the 
affection  which  they  had  previously  entertained 
for  her,  an  appreciation  of  the  nobility  of 


246  MISS  LUDING TON'S  SISTER. 

her  character  which  they  had  not  then  pos 
sessed. 

Paul's  heart  yearned  after  its  mistress  in  her 
self-humiliation  and  voluntary  banishment  as 
never  before.  This  impassioned  and  most 
human  woman,  who  had  shown  herself  capa 
ble  of  wrong,  and,  also,  of  most  generous  re 
nunciation,  had  struck  a  deeper  chord  in  his 
breast  than  had  ever  vibrated  to  the  touch  of 
the  flawless  seraph  he  had  supposed  her  to  be. 

Having  canvassed  all  possible  methods  of 
reaching  Ida  in  her  flight,  it  was  decided  by 
Paul  and  his  aunt  to  begin  by  advertising,  and 
that  same  day  the  following  notice  was  inserted 
in  all  the  daily  papers  of  Brooklyn  and  New 
York:  — 

Ida  S r.     All  is  forgiven ;  only  come  back.    We 

cannot  live  without  you.      For  pity's  sake  at  least  write 

to  us. 

Miss  L AND  PAUL. 

This  advertisement  was  to  remain  in  the 
papers  till  forbidden.  If  Ida  was  anywhere  in 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  247 

the  two  cities  or  vicinity,  the  chances  were  that 
it  would  fall  under  the  notice  of  herself  or 
some  of  her  family.  Before  inserting  the  ad 
vertisement  Paul  had  visited  Mrs.  Legrand's 
house  in  East  Tenth  street;  but,  as  he  had 
expected,  he  found  that  the  family  had  moved 
away  long  previously,  probably  with  a  view  to 
avoid  detection,  and  to  enable  Mrs.  Legrand  to 
resume  business  elsewhere. 

A  week  passed  without  any  response  to  the 
advertisement.  Paul  spent  his  days  walking 
the  streets  of  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  at  ran 
dom,  for  the  sake  of  the  chance,  about  one  in 
ten  billions,  that  he  might  meet  Ida.  Anything 
was  more  endurable  than  sitting  at  home  wait 
ing,  and  by  dint  of  tramping  all  day  long  he 
was  so  dead  tired  when  he  reached  home  at  night 
that  he  could  sleep,  which  otherwise  would 
have  been  out  of  the  question. 

About  the  middle  of  the  week  a  bundle 
arrived,  containing  the  dress  Ida  had  worn 
away,  with  her  hat  and  cloak ;  but  without  a  word 


248  MISS  LUDfNGTON'S  SISTER. 

of  writing,  Paul  devoured  them  with  kisses. 
A  study  of  the  express  markings  showed  that 
the  package  must  have  been  sent  from  Brook 
lyn,  which  went  to  show  that  Ida  was  in  that 
city.  Believing  that  she  did  not  intend  to  re 
spond  to  the  advertisement,  Paul  had  deter 
mined,  if  he  did  not  hear  from  her  within  a  few 
days,  to  employ  a  prominent  New  York  detec 
tive  firm  to  search  for  her.  If  he  could  but 
once  see  her  face  to  face,  he  was  sure  that  he 
could  bring  her  back. 

A  week  from  the  day  on  which  she  had  fled 
he  was  starting  out  as  usual,  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  for  another  day  of  hopeless,  weary  tramping 
in  the  city,  when  the  postman  handed  him  a 
letter  addressed  in  her  handwriting.  It  was 
to  him  like  a  voice  from  the  grave,  and  read  as 
follows :  — 

I  have  seen  your  advertisement  for  me.  I  cannot  be 
lieve  that  you  have  forgiven  me.  You  could  not  do  it. 
It  is  impossible.  Even  if  I  could  believe  it,  I  do  not  think 
I  should  ever  have  the  courage  to  face  you  after  what  you 


MISS  LUDINGTON' S  SISTER.  249 

know  of  me.  I  should  die  of  shame.  O  Paul !  if  you 
could  see  how  my  cheeks  burn  as  I  write  this,  and  know 
that  you  will  see  it.  But  I  cannot  deny  myself  the  happi 
ness  of  writing  to  you.  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should 
not  write  sometimes,  is  there?  though  we  never  see  each 
other.  Does  Miss  Ludington  really  forgive  me,  or  does 
she  merely  consent  to  have  me  return  because  you  still 
care  for  me?  If  you  do  still  care  for  me,  —  O  Paul!  I 
cannot  believe  it,  —  do  you  forget  what  I  have  done  ? 
Read  over  again  the  letter  I  left  for  you  when  I  came 
away.  You  must  have  forgotten  it.  Read  it  carefully. 
Think  it  all  over.  Oh,  no,  you  cannot  love  me  still! 

IDA  SLATER. 

Paul  replied  with  the  first  love-letter  he  had 
ever  written,  and  one  that  any  woman  who 
loved  him  must  have  found  irresistible.  He 
enclosed  a  note  from  Miss  Ludington,  assuring 
Ida  of  the  unhappiness  which  her  flight  had 
caused  them,  the  undiminished  tenderness 
which  they  cherished  for  her,  and  the  cruelty 
she  would  be  guilty  of  if  she  refused  to  return. 

In  response  to  these  letters  there  came  a 
note  saying  simply,  "I  will  come." 


250  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  this  note  was  re 
ceived,  as  Paul  and  Miss  Ludington  were  to 
gether  in  the  sitting-room  talking  as  usual  of 
Ida,  and  wondering  on  what  day  she  would 
return,  there  was  a  light  step  at  the  open  door, 
and  she  glided  into  the  room,  and,  throwing 
herself  on  her  knees  before  Miss  Ludington, 
hid  her  face  in  her  lap. 

It  was  an  hour  before  she  would  raise  her 
head,  replying  the  while  only  with  sobs  to  the 
kisses  and  caresses  showered  upon  her,  and  the 
assurances  of  love  and  welcome  poured  into 
her  ears. 

When  at  last  she  lifted  her  face  her  embar 
rassment  was  so  distressing  that  in  pity  Miss 
Ludington  told  Paul  he  might  take  her  out  for 
a  walk  in  the  dark. 

When  they  came  back  her  cheeks  were 
flushed  as  redly  as  when  she  went  out;  but, 
despite  her  shame,  she  looked  very  happy. 

"  She  is  to  be  my  wife  in  two  weeks  from  to 
day,"  said  Paul,  exultantly. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  25 1 

"  I  ought  not  to  let  him  marry  me.  I  know 
I  ought  not.  I  am  not  fit  for  him,"  faltered 
Ida ;  "  but  I  cannot  refuse  him  anything,  and  I 
love  him  so  !  " 

"You  are  quite  fit  for  him,"  said  Miss 
Ludington,  kissing  her,  "  and  I  can  well  believe 
he  loves  you.  It  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if 
he  did  not.  You  are  a  noble  and  a  tender 
woman,  and  he  will  be  very  happy." 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Ida  was  at 
first  much  puzzled  to  account  not  only  for 
the  evident  genuineness  of  the  esteem  which 
her  friends  cherished  for  her,  but  for  the  fact 
that  it  seemed  to  have  been  enhanced  rather 
than  diminished  by  the  recent  events.  In 
stead  of  regarding  her  repentance  as  at  most 
offsetting  her  offence,  they  apparently  looked 
upon  it  as  a  positive  virtue  redounding  wholly 
to  her  credit.  It  was  quite  as  if  she  had  made 
amends  for  another  person's  sin,  in  contrast 
with  whose  conduct  her  own  nobility  stood 
out  in  fine  relief. 


252  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

And  that,  in  fact,  is  exactly  the  way  t\iey 
did  look  at  it.  Their  habit  of  distinguishing 
Between  the  successive  phases  of  an  individ 
ual  life  as  distinct  persons,  made  it  impossi 
ble  for  them  to  take  any  other  view  of  the 
matter. 

In  their  eyes  the  past  was  good  or  bad  for 
itself,  and  the  present  good  or  bad  for  itself, 
and  an  evil  past  could  no  more  shadow  a 
virtuous  present  than  a  virtuous  present 
could  retroact  to  brighten  or  redeem  an  ugly 
past.  It  is  the  soul  that  repents  which  is 
ennobled  by  repentance.  The  soul  that  did 
the  deed  repented  of  is  past  forgiving.  There 
was  no  affectation  on  the  part  of  Paul  or 
Miss  Ludington  of  ignoring  the  fraud  which 
Ida  had  practised,  or  pretending  to  forget  it. 
This  was  not  necessary  out  of  any  considera 
tion  for  her  feelings,  for  they  did  not  hold 
that  it  was  she  who  was  guilty  of  that  fraud, 
but  another  person. 

As    gradually   she    comprehended    the   way 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  253 

in  which  they  looked  upon  her,  and  came  to 
perceive  that  they  unquestioningly  held  that 
she  had  no  responsibility  for  her  past  self, 
but  was  a  new  being,  she  was  filled  with  a 
great  exhilaration,  the  precise  like  of  which 
was,  perhaps,  never  before  known  to  a  repent 
ant  wrong-doer.  As  they  believed,  so  would 
she  believe.  With  a  great  joy  she  put  the 
shameful  past  behind  her  and  took  up  her 
new  life.  "As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart 
so  is  he." 

If  she  had  loved  Paul  before,  if  she  had 
before  felt  tenderly  toward  Miss  Ludington, 
a  passion  of  gratitude  now  intensified  her 
love,  her  tenderness,  a  thousand-fold. 

Miss  Ludington's  failing  health  was  the  only 
shadow  on  the  perfect  happiness  of  the  lovers 
during  those  two  weeks  of  courtship.  Com 
pared  with  the  intoxicating  reality  of  these 
golden  days  Paul  looked  back  on  his  wooing  of 
the  supposed  Ida  Ludington  as  a  vague  and 
unsatisfying  dream. 


254  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

Now  that  Ida  was  no  longer  playing  a  part, 
he  was  really  just  becoming  acquainted  with 
her,  and  finding  out  what  manner  of  maiden  it 
was  to  whom  he  had  lost  his  heart.  Each  day, 
almost  each  hour,  discovered  to  him  some  new 
trait,  some  unsuspected  grace  of  mind  or  heart, 
till,  in  this  glowing  girl,  so  bright,  so  blithe,  so 
piquant,  he  had  difficulty  in  recognizing  any 
likenesss,  save  of  face  and  form,  to  the  moody, 
freakish,  melancholy,  hysterical,  and  altogether 
eerie  Ida  Ludington. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  Miss  Ludington  said  to  her 
one  day,  "  that  you  are  Ida  Slater,  and  not  my 
Ida." 

"  Why  are  you  glad  ?  "  Ida  asked.  "  Would 
you  not  have  been  happier  if  you  had  gone  on 
believing  me  to  be  your  girlish  self?" 

"  I  should  have  grown  very  sad  by  this  time 
if  I  had  continued  to  think  that  you  were 
she?"  replied  Miss  Ludington.  "I  have  not 
long  to  live,  and  it  is  far  more  important  to  me 
that  she  should  be  there  to  welcome  me  when  I 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2$$ 

go  over  than  that  I  should  have  her  here  with 
me  for  a  few  days  before  I  go.  If  she  were 
here  on  earth  the  thought  of  so  soon  leaving 
her  behind  would  sadden  me  as  much  as 
the  hope  of  meeting  her  now  gladdens 
me." 

Miss  Ludington  neither  talked  herself  nor 
permitted  others  to  talk  in  a  melancholy  tone 
of  the  probable  nearness  of  her  end.  "  Death 
may  seem  dreadful,"  she  said  to  Ida  one  day,  "  to 
the  foolish  people  who  fancy  that  an  individual 
dies  but  once,  forgetting  that  their  present  selves 
are  but  the  last  of  many  selves  already  dead. 
The  death  which  may  now  be  near  me  is  no 
sadder,  no  more  important,  than  the  deaths  of 
my  past  selves,  and  no  different,  save  in  the 
single  respect  that  this  time  no  later  self  will  fol 
low  me.  This  house  of  our  individuality,  which 
has  sheltered  us  in  turn,  having  become  in 
capable  of  being  repaired  for  the  use  of 
subsequent  tenants,  is  to  be  pulled  down. 
That  is  all." 


: 


256  MISS  LUDINGTOWS  SISTER. 

Another  time  she  said,  "  It  is  very  strange  to 
see  people  who  dread  death  always  looking 
forward  for  it  instead  of  backward.  In  their 
fear  of  dying  once  they  quite  forget  that  they 
have  died  already  many  times.  It  is  the  most 
foolish  of  all  things  to  imagine  that  by  prolong 
ing  the  career  of  the  individual,  death  is  kept  at 
bay.  The  present  self  must  die  in  any  case  by 
the  inevitable  process  of  time,  whether  the 
body  be  kept  in  repair  for  later  selves  or  not. 

CThe    death  of  the  body  is  but  the  end  of  the 
laily  dying  that  makes  up  earthly  life." 


They  were  married  in  the  sitting-room 
before  the  picture  that  had  exerted  so  strong 
an  influence  upon  their  lives.  The  servants 
were  invited  in,  but  there  was  no  company. 
Ida  wore  a  white  satin  with  a  low  corsage,  and 
as  she  stood  directly  below  the  picture,  the 
resemblance  impressed  the  beholders  very  strik 
ingly.  It  was  as  if  the  girl  had  stepped  down 
from  the  picture  to  be  married. 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  2$? 

Ida  had  demurred  a  little  to  standing  just 
there,  which  had  been  the  suggestion  of  Miss 
Ludington.  She  was  not  without  a  vague 
superstition  that  the  spirit  of  the  girl  whose 
lover  she  had  stolen  away  would  not  wish  her 
well.  But  when  she  hinted  this,  Miss  Luding 
ton  replied,  "  You  must  not  think  of  it  that 
way.  What  has  a  spirit  like  her  to  do  with 
earthly  passions?  Your  love  has  saved  Paul 
from  a  dream  as  vain  as  it  was  beautiful,  and 
which,  had  it  gone  on,  might  have  gained  a 
morbid  strength  and  blighted  his  life.  I  like  to 
fancy,  and  I  know  it  is  Paul's  belief,  that  the 
spirit  of  my  Ida  influenced  you  to  come  to  us 
just  as  you  came,  that  under  her  form  Paul 
might  fall  in  love  with  you.  In  no  other  way 
but  just  this  do  I  believe  he  could  have  been 
cured  of  his  infatuation." 

Owing  to  the  precarious  condition  of  Miss 
Ludington's  health,  Paul  and  Ida  would  not 
consent  to  leave  home  for  any  bridal  trip. 


258  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

It  was  but  a  week  after  the  wedding  that,  on 
going  into  Miss  Ludington's  room  as  usual  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning,  Ida  found  her  dead. 
She  must  have  expired  very  quietly,  if  not, 
indeed,  in  her  sleep,  for  her  room  adjoined 
that  of  the  bridal  couple,  and  she  could  have 
summoned  Ida  with  the  touch  of  a  bell.  Her 
features  were  relaxed  in  a  smile  of  joyous 
recognition. 

Paul  took  his  wife  to  Europe  directly  aftei 
the  funeral.  One  night,  during  their  absence,  a 
fire,  probably  set  by  tramps,  broke  out  in  one 
of  the  empty  houses  of  the  village,  and,  the 
wind  being  high  and  no  help  near,  all  the 
buildings  on  the  place,  including  the  home 
stead,  were  completely  destroyed.  The  latter 
being  shut  up,  nothing  even  of  the  furniture 
could  be  saved,  and  the  entire  contents,  in 
cluding  the  picture  in  the  sitting-room,  were 
consumed.  The  tourists  were  much  shocked 
by  the  receipt  of  the  intelligence,  but  Paul 


MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER.  259 

expressed  the  inmost  conviction  of  both  when 
he  finally  said,  "Now  that  she  is  gone,  per 
haps  it  is  as  well.  Ashes  to  ashes  !  The  past 
has  claimed  its  own." 

They  never  rebuilt  the  village  or  the  home 
stead,  but  on  their  return  to  this  country  took 
up  their  residence  in  New  York.  The  site  of 
the  mimic  Hilton  is  once  more  tilled  as  a 
farm. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  Ida  made 
such  provision  for  her  family  as  enabled  them 
to  retire  from  the  medium  business.  Paul 
insisted  that  this  provision  should  be  of  the 
most  generous  nature,  for  was  he  not  indebted 
to  them  for  the  happiness  of  his  life?  He 
never  would  admit  that  Mrs.  Legrand  was  a 
fraud,  but  always  maintained  that  none  but 
a  truly  great  medium  could  have  materialized 
the  vaguest  of  love-dreams  into  the  sweetest 
of  wives. 

As  for  Dr.  Hull,  or,  rather,  Mr.  Slater,  he 
became  in  time  quite  a  crony  of  Paul's,  and 


26O  MISS  LUDINGTON'S  SISTER. 

the  book  on  which  the  latter  is  engaged, 
setting  forth  the  argument  for  the  immortality 
of  past  selves,  will  owe  not  a  little  to  the 
suggestions  of  the  old  gentleman. 


THE  END. 


RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


RECEIVED 

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(J9096slO)476-A-32 


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Berkeley 


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